


More Adventurous

by fictionalaspect



Series: More Adventurous [1]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Time, High School, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer wondered if everyone thought he and Brendon were dating. He wondered about the way Brendon was always so tactile with him, the effortless way Brendon sort of fell into Spencer's personal space like he belonged there. He wondered if it was weird that Brendon was sleeping in his bed, if maybe Jess had just misheard him and assumed they were sleeping together in Spencer's bed, like Spencer used to do with Ryan. It got to the point that he wasn't even paying attention to what was going on in the game, and thus was totally blindsided when a particularly impressive kick by Taylor Murphy caught Spencer squarely in the balls.</p><p>"<i>Motherfucker</i>," Spencer swore, when he felt himself capable of forming words again.</p><p>"Happens to the best of us," Mr. Davies said, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. The impact jarred his back and by extension Spencer's sore balls, and he squeaked in pain. "You'll be alright," Mr. Davies said. "Just keep your eye on the ball next time. And watch that language."</p><p>"Sure," Spencer said, instead of what he wanted to say, which was "Fuck you, douchebag." Spencer didn't need his gym teacher's sympathy, he needed a fucking ice pack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Adventurous

**Author's Note:**

> For bandom_hc. Thank you to everyone who read this at various stages as it took shape and offered encouragement, criticism, and feedback; you know you who are, and I can't thank any of you enough. Thank you also to jadedpen for the beta and stephanometra for commapicking; Any mistakes left are my own. Title is from Rilo Kiley.
> 
> Original Prompt: Brendon gets kicked out of his house for being gay. He doesn't want the other members of the band to know so he hides it. He gets his own apartment, but has to work to afford it hobviously, and between work, school, not eating enough, the band and lol mental stress of being in love with Spencer and lying to his best friends, he gets sick and all is revealed. Spencer's family are horrified and let Brendon stay with them.

Brendon was twenty-seven minutes late for practice.

"Did you try his--"

"Of course I tried his fucking phone," Spencer said. "I"m not an idiot."

\---

Brendon was now thirty-eight minutes late for band practice.

"I can't believe I busted ass to get here," Ryan grumbled, curled up on top of one of their beat-up amps. "What the fuck, seriously. We can't practice without our lead singer." His emphasis on _lead singer_ was faint but noticeable. Spencer wondered how much longer it was going to take until Ryan could just say it, without that tinge of faint jealousy coloring the words.

Spencer snapped his phone shut with an audible click. "Fuck it," Spencer said. "There has to be something we can work on without him."

"The rhythm parts?" Brent suggested, strumming his bass absently. "I mean, we don't need Brendon for that. Spencer keeps rushing the beat."

"Blow me," Spencer said.

"You wish," Brent said.

"I'm not rushing shit, you're the one who can't play in 5/8 time," Spencer said, staring at the doorway like he could make Brendon appear with the power of his mind. "Ryan, tell Brent my drumming is awesome."

"Your drumming is awesome," Ryan repeated dutifully, staring at his Chucks as he wiggled his toes inside the shoes. "But you kind of do rush the beat on that one."

Spencer rolled his eyes and walked over to his kit. "Traitor."

"Asshole," Ryan said, entirely without venom.

"See if I back you up the next time Brendon tells you you're off-key," Spencer said.

"You say 'next time' like you're sure we'll see him again," Ryan said, but he picked up his guitar and went to plug it into the amp.

"Of course we're going to fucking see him again," Brent pointed out. "I see him every day."

"What if he's dead?"

"He's not _dead_," Spencer said, fumbling the drumstick he was tossing with one hand. It landed on the cymbal with a crash just as Ryan plugged in his guitar.

"He's not dead," Spencer repeated, once his ear drums had stopped ringing. "He's just being a douche who doesn't show up for practice."

"Whatever," Ryan said. "I'll count us in, let's go."

*

Spencer locked the creaky door of the practice space behind them with a click, feeling thankful for once that he'd nagged Brendon until he had gone out and made copies of the keys. _Hah_, Spencer thought, slapping the post-it note that said _Where were you, fucker?_in Ryan's messy handwriting on the door. Next time he saw Brendon, he was going to tell him to suck it because he was _totally right_ about needing the extra set of keys in case of an emergency.

Emergencies like Brendon deciding to bail on them.

Spencer's shoulders were killing him, but he felt marginally less homicidal, even if Brendon still wasn't answering his fucking phone. Spencer didn't want to be that dude who needed to hit things to get his aggression out, but he'd been so focused by the end of practice he'd almost forgotten why he was annoyed. Drumming forced him to concentrate on what he was doing; there was no room left over for anything else.

The air conditioner in Ryan's car was broken again; it gave a weak gasp and then a throaty rattle when Spencer tried to turn it on. Ryan slapped his hand away, swearing.

"Don't touch it, don't touch it," he said, flicking on his turn signal to leave the almost-empty parking lot. "You're going to make it worse."

"It's not working," Spencer pointed out. "I don't know how I can make it worse when it's already broken."

"Suck it," Ryan said, pulling out into traffic.

"You want dinner?" Spencer offered, once they had successfully made it back to his driveway without Ryan's car falling apart around them. "English," Ryan said ruefully, pointing over his shoulder to the backseat and two uneven piles of books on the seats.

"You love English," Spencer said.

"I don't love _Fahrenheit 45_1," Ryan said. "Ray Bradbury should go die in a fire."

"I think he does, or something," Spencer said. "I didn't actually read it."

"Something like that," Ryan agreed.

By the time they got to Spencer's house, his t-shirt was sticking to his back. Spencer peeled it away from his skin with a wince as he stepped out of the car. "Tomorrow?" Spencer said, because tomorrow was Friday and he couldn't remember if they were doing something or not.

Ryan shook his head again. "I'm staying at Tarah's," he said,

Spencer snorted. "I still can't believe her mom lets you sleep over."

"I know, it's awesome," Ryan said drily. "I'll text you if she puts out."

"Please don't," Spencer said. Sometimes it was hard to know when Ryan was kidding. "Saturday, then," Spencer said, and Ryan just nodded. He pulled out of the driveway with a slight squeal of tires on asphalt and Spencer shoved his bangs off his face before picking up his backpack and heading inside. The shock of the air conditioning heating his overheated skin was jarring, cool air making the sweat on his skin turn cold. Spencer shivered in relief.

He dropped his bookbag near the door and scrambled into the kitchen, ducking out of the way when his mom tried to kiss him hello. "No Ryan?" she asked, and Spencer shook his head, already filling up a glass of ice water from the dispenser on the refrigerator.

"He says hello and he's sorry he couldn't stay for dinner," Spencer edited. His mom didn't need to know about Ryan's 86th attempt to get laid. "Hey, Brendon didn't call here, did he?" Spencer pushed his bangs out of his eyes. He'd realized on the way over that maybe Brendon lost his phone, in which case Spencer would feel like kind of a jerk.

"Nope," His mom said, pulling open the oven to check on whatever-it-was she had in there. It looked like lasagna; whatever it was, it smelled awesome. "Did you lose him?"

"A little," Spencer said. "He didn't show up for practice, I dunno."

"Brendon's a good guy," his mom said, poking at the pan in the oven with a raised eyebrow, as though daring the lasagna to cook faster. "I'm sure he'll turn up, maybe he missed his bus."

"Maybe," Spencer said, shrugging. He carefully and quietly backed away from the oven, willing her not to turn around. If he could just make it three more feet--

"Your shoes squeak," his mom said, closing the oven door. "Don't even think about it, we need this salad cut up."

"Homework?" Spencer tried weakly, tipping the glass back to get at the ice cubes.

"You're the one who decided to form a band," his mom said. "Knives in the dishwasher." She thunked a head of lettuce down on the cutting board and Spencer saw that she had already pulled out an assortment of vegetables.

He groaned.

"Get cracking," Ginger said, with a sort of vaguely malicious glee. "Dinner's in twenty, hurry up."

*

Friday morning dragged on long and interminable. Spencer didn't have time to grab coffee before school and spent his first three periods nodding off, staring hazily at the board, and texting Ryan under his desk. They weren't talking about anything in particular until Ryan replied to him just before noon with _brent sez brendon didn't come to school today and he can't remember if he went yesterday_.

_so he's sick_, Spencer texted back, hiding his phone under the fake-wood cafeteria tables and eating his sandwich with one hand. He had shitty third lunch on Fridays and all of his friends had first or second, which meant Spencer was attempting to do his Pre-Calc homework by himself and getting exactly nowhere.

_i dunno_, Ryan replied. _hes not answering his phone._

_did you call his mom?_

_lol i'm not calling his mom she hates me. u call his mom._

_pussy_, Spencer texted back, but he was mostly kidding. Brendon's mom really did kind of hate Ryan. She liked Spencer, though. Spencer figured he could probably just call after school and see if Brendon was actually dying or just faking it; either way he could probably borrow the car to go hang out for a while. The last time Brendon had gotten sick, he'd practically begged Spencer to come over, citing a lack of entertainment sources and no one to bring him ice cream.

_ur just jealous because i'm getting laid tonight_ Ryan sent back and Spencer snorted incredulously. He was a little jealous, but that was sort of par for the course. It wasn't like Spencer didn't realize how lame it was that his big plans for tonight would probably involve playing Monopoly and watching Brendon sniffle.

_y, i'm totally jealous of your smooth moves_, Spencer typed back. _i bet you won't even get her bra off_. Tarah was pretty cool, actually, the few times Spencer had met her. She was sweet and freckled and a good student, and Spencer was pretty sure her mother actually thought she and Ryan were cramming for the SATs when Ryan slept over. Spencer still wasn't quite sure what she was doing with Ryan, but he wasn't about to question it, not when Ryan seemed so content with the situation. Spencer suspected that under all the bravado, Ryan actually liked her a lot. It was kind of cute.

_im a sex god_ Ryan typed back. _u just wait_.

Spencer choked on his sandwich. His first impulse was to text Brendon (_ross is telling me he's a sex god again send help_; Brendon's replies were usually something like _this is what happens when u let him watch infomercials ;)_) and Spencer had the text message open before he realized that Brendon was still dying or something and probably wouldn't get it.

Spencer frowned down at his Pre-Calc homework.

Brendon needed to hurry the fuck up and get better; it wasn't nearly as entertaining making fun of Ryan all by himself.

*

Spencer had Pre-Calc last period; it dragged on forever and ever and ever, until Spencer was ready to throw his textbook at Mrs. Resendes's head.

Spencer had long ago accepted that he thought math was kind of fun, and thus—according to Ryan-- was definitely from another planet. It was interesting, the way everything always came out all neat and orderly, the way numbers fit into a pattern and always made sense as long as you did the right steps in the right order.

("Seriously," Ryan had said. "Seriously, you're from Mars, I don't know how we're friends, I'm going to wake up and you'll be sucking my brain out through my eye sockets or something."

"...Eye sockets?" Spencer said, still chewing on the end of his pencil as he frowned down at the proof.

"That's what aliens do," Ryan said defensively. "With their tentacles. And shit. I don't know."

"Right," Spencer said, going back to his homework.)

So he didn't mind the class, but there were twenty minutes left until the bell rang and Spencer could feel the muscles in his legs tensing up, like he could will time to move faster if he thought about it hard enough Mrs. Resendes outlined another proof on the board and Spencer had to consciously relax his muscles, to shut off the voice in his brain yelling _weekendgogogonownowhurryuphurryUP_. Knowing her, this would probably end up on a test next week, but Spencer was having a hard time forcing himself to care. He had twenty minutes left until the weekend, even if the weather forecast promised to be unusually hot and generally miserable.

Spencer turned his head on his desk and stared out the window at the ugly grass and the ugly, sparse trees and the ugly sandstone-colored pavement stones. Everything looked flat and hot and lifeless.

Spencer wished futilely for snow. He closed his eyes, listening to Mrs. Resendes' overly cheerful explanation of Integral Identities, and he could almost feel the the snap of cold, dry air on his skin, the crunch of the snow under his feet. Spencer thought about the last time he'd been in Colorado for a family vacation, each of his sisters leaving their own trail of parallel dotted lines as they ran across the yard. By the end of the week the yard had been covered in arcing and intersecting lines, a history of snowball fights and winter chores and how many times they ran out of milk that week.

Out in the desert, Spencer realized, opening his eyes to the sound of the bell, he could wander off and no one would even know he was missing. It was an unsettling thought, that Spencer wasn't even sure who would miss him if he disappeared. Ryan, definitely. Probably Brendon and Brent. Beyond that, Spencer wasn't sure.

He saw Jessica, Brendon's co-worker at the Smoothie Hut, as he was fighting the crush of students out the door. If Brendon had called in sick on Wednesday at the Smoothie Hut, he realized, she'd probably know. They weren't friends, exactly, more like acquaintances, but they had Band together fifth period and Spencer had talked to her a few times outside of class. He told himself firmly that it wasn't that weird.

"Jess! Jess, hey," Spencer called out, reaching out a hand to tap her lightly on the shoulder when she failed to turn around.

"What--" Jess said, turning around, one hand still fumbling in her messenger bag, one balancing a stack of library books. She looked up and her smiled widened and Spencer thought _oh hey, she got kind of cute_. It wasn't that he'd never noticed before--she'd always been cute, in a sort of abstract way--but she'd changed her hair or something and it definitely suited her. "Oh! Hey Spencer, listen, I'm kind of late, I need to drop these off before the bus leaves--"

"Here," Spencer said, holding out a hand for the books and falling into step beside her. Jess was walking fast but she was also kind of tiny; Spencer didn't really have any trouble keeping up. "We'll walk and talk, I just wanted to know if you'd seen Brendon lately? At work?"

"Wait--what?" Jess said, turning and stopping short with almost no warning, causing Spencer to walk into her from behind and hurriedly apologize. "What do you mean, have I seen Brendon?"

"Uh, he's sick, right?" Spencer said, frowning. "He hasn't shown up to band practice or school, I figured he would have--"

"That's why I need to make this bus," Jess said, cutting across the flow of students to a row of lockers near the front entrance. "No one's heard from him in three days, I'm covering his shift tonight. Our boss is _pissed_, if you see him, tell him he needs to do some serious groveling if he doesn't want to get fired. Okay, books?" Jess said, holding out one hand while popping her locker open with the other. Spencer handed them over and Jess shoved them all in her locker, pulling a stack of sheet music and a Geometry textbook out at the same time. "Thanks for carrying them, but I gotta run, I can't afford to lose _my_ job tonight."

"Okay," Spencer said a little distantly. Jess raised an eyebrow and Spencer shook himself a little. "Shit, sorry, I mean--No, it's fine, go run and get your bus. Thanks," he finished, a little awkwardly.

Jess walked a few steps away and then stopped, one leg jittering faintly. "Listen," she said, fiddling with the strap of her bag. "I'm working 4 to 10 tonight, if--if you don't find Brendon, you should come by. If you want. "

"Oh," Spencer said, distracted. If Brendon hadn't called in sick to work, that was--that was fucking weird. Spencer hoped nothing had happened with Brendon's parents; they hadn't wanted him to get the job in the first place.

"So I'll see you?" Jess said.

"Uh, yeah," Spencer said, still thinking. It didn't make any _sense_; Brendon wouldn't just stop showing up places unless his parents had something to do with it. Spencer had a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Sure, maybe, we can come by."

Jess flashed him another smile, this one slightly more hopeful. "Okay," she said, and ran towards her bus.

*  
_6 Months Ago_

The thing about working at the Smoothie Hut was that some days it sucked, and some days it was awesome. The real bitch of the job, Brendon thought, was trying to figure that sort of thing out in advance. For example, it usually sucked on Saturdays, because then every parent with a screaming child wanted a smoothie; Brendon was fine with kids, but he sort of got enough of them at home. Weeknights were normally fine, except Fridays, which were worse than Saturdays. He would invariably end up making smoothies for someone he knew at school and then wincing to himself when they walked away.

Brendon was maybe not so great at the casual conversation thing. Or the conversation thing in general. Or talking to anyone (who wasn't Spencer, or Ryan, or Brent) without coming off as a total spaz.

Brendon finished counting his tips (9 dollars so far, fuck yeah; he was totally sneaking coffee when his shift was over) and looked up to see a familiar hoodie pass by the glass-fronted windows of the tiny shop. Spencer was holding several large, brightly colored bags and looked mildly homicidal. Brendon grinned, hopping up to sit on the counter as Spencer came through the door. He was mid-shift and it was a slow Sunday afternoon; he was pretty sure no one was going to try and call the Health Department on him.

"Spencer Smith!" Brendon crowed, grinning. "And what bring you to this fine establishment this afternoon?"  
"I hate everything," Spencer said, frowning at the cheery noise of the door chime like he always did. "I hate the mall and Crystal won't shut up about wanting that Christina Aguilera CD and then Jackie tried to make me listen to it and my mom seems to think I need a haircut and I don't want a haircut, my hair is fine, seriously, what the fuck."

Brendon snorted. "Someone needs a smoothie," he said.

"Damn straight I need a smoothie," Spencer grumbled. "Why did I even agree to this, seriously."

Brendon pointed to the bag in Spencer's left hand and raised an eyebrow.

"I needed shoes for summer," Spencer said defensively. "I wore my old ones out in gym. They were on sale."

"Can I see?" Brendon said, hopping up on the counter. "Those are hot," Brendon said, wistful. He was maybe a little jealous. "Man, I wish I could get my parents to shell out for new shoes, there's some awesome ones in the window at Sports Authority."

"Yeah," Spencer said. "I don't know. I'm pretty sure it's just a bribe to ensure my willing cooperation."

"Did it work?" Brendon asked.

"No," Spencer said. "I left them in Nordstrom to come hang out with you."

"Scab," Brendon said. He hummed the opening bars of one of the fight scenes from Newsies.

"I can go," Spencer said. "I'm sure there's another store that would appreciate the pleasure of my company. And my wallet."

"You wouldn't," Brendon said confidently.

"Probably not," Spencer said. "But someone has to keep you on your toes."

"Blow me," Brendon said, and ignored the weird twist in his gut that had started happening every time he said something like that around Spencer. "Banana Mango?"

"Strawberry Banana Mango," Spencer said.

"Adventurous today, aren't we," Brendon said, hopping back over the counter.

"Sometimes you have to live a little," Spencer said. He pulled out his phone and wandered off to the side. Brendon could hear him explaining to someone--he assumed it was Ginger--that no, he hadn't run out on his family, he was just in the Smoothie Hut with Brendon because he was trying not to strangle his sisters, etc etc. The door chimed again, and Brendon looked up to see a girl come in, someone about their age. Spencer nearly dropped his phone, stammering something to his mom about meeting her at five and hanging up. Brendon pushed away the cold, sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Um," the girl said to Spencer. "Uh. Are you in line?"

"No," Spencer said. "No, it's fine, you go ahead."

"Hey," the girl said to Brendon, giving him a small smile as she stepped up to the counter. "Um. Medium Strawberry Kiwi?" She was a little smaller then Brendon, with short, messy dark brown hair and black-framed glasses. Her messenger bag had stars on it and a pink unicorn on the strap. Brendon was pretty sure she could have passed for one of his sisters. Brendon nodded, looking over her shoulder to see Spencer very obviously staring at her ass.

"No problem," Brendon said, keeping his voice even. "Coming right up." It was dumb, he told himself, as he shoved Spencer's half-made smoothie back into the industrial freezer with slightly more force then necessary. Spencer could do what he wanted, and it was fine, and he really needed a girlfriend anyway, and so what, if it meant that Brendon would be stuck hanging out with Brent all the time.

So what, if she sort of looked like Brendon.

It was almost worse because Brendon could hear them talking; Spencer had somehow managed to strike up a conversation, although she didn't sound very interested until Spencer mentioned the band. "You guys any good?" the girl said, "What do you play?"

"Drums," Spencer said, "We're called the Summer League. You should come see us play sometime."

Brendon snorted rudely. The most they'd played were people's house parties, a few random, youth group fundraiser-type-things that were looking for local acts and didn't particularly care about the content or talent level of those involved. He wondered if she was seeing through Spencer's fairly transparent ploy. He wondered if she thought Spencer was hot.

"Cool," the girl said. "Give me your number and maybe I'll call you sometime."

Brendon focused very carefully on chopping the last of the strawberries and swallowed against the bile in his throat. Seriously, this was stupid, and he barely even understood why he was upset. The only thing Brendon knew was that as soon as she'd walked in he'd become suddenly, blazingly jealous. He jammed his finger on the "blend" button harder then necessary.

"You've been waiting a while," the girl was saying to Spencer. "I mean, you were here before me..."

"No, it's cool," Spencer said. "Brendon's in our band, he's the singer."

"Oh yeah?" the girl said, going up on her tiptoes to sort of peer over the high counter. Brendon turned his back as he poured out his smoothie. He didn't need to be reminded that he wasn't as hot as Spencer.

"$3.75, please," Brendon said, shoving the smoothie and a straw at her. She smiled at him when he handed her the change. Brendon didn't smile back.

"Wow," Spencer said, after she had left, craning his neck to get a final glimpse of her out the window. "Dude, she was _so hot_."

"Yeah," Brendon said, dumping the used glass canister for the blender in the sink with a clatter. "You want your smoothie or not?"

"Yeah," Spencer said. "Dude, she asked for my _number_."

"I noticed," Brendon said, pulling Spencer's smoothie out of the industrial fridge and slamming the door. "Look, maybe you should just go, we might get busy later on and I have shit to do." Brendon knew he was being a dick, but it felt like something was clawing at his gut, something hot and angry.

Spencer glanced around at the empty shop. "Okay," he said slowly. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Brendon said, not looking at Spencer. "I need to do inventory, it's going to take a while."

"Right," Spencer said, looking a little bewildered. Brendon didn't really blame him. "I'll call you later?"

"Sure," Brendon said. "Whatever. See you." He scraped a hand over his eyes after Spencer left, resisting the urge to just go out back and kick something.

Fuck.

Brendon was starting to think he had a problem.

 

*

It didn't quite click until Spencer was on the bus, watching the identical subdivisions roll by.

Jess had totally been hitting on him.

She'd been walking way closer to him than normal, and then there had been that whole "come by and see me" thing, and Spencer wanted to bang his forehead against the grimy bus windows in frustration. He was never going to get laid. Hell, at this rate he was never going to get _kissed_.__

The thing about Jess, Spencer thought idly, was that she wasn't just kind of cute, she was cool and she listened to good music and apparently didn't want to run away screaming at the thought of making out with Spencer. All points in her favor, and yet Spencer just couldn't focus on anything except the tight ball of anxiety that had taken up residence in his ribcage. It felt disturbingly close to how Spencer always felt when Ryan climbed through his window at 3am, or said he walked into the garage door again and wouldn't let Spencer look at the bruise.

Something just felt off about the whole situation, like there was something huge that Spencer was missing, something obvious and glaring. He couldn't think of any reason for Brendon to miss work AND school AND band practice without so much as a phone call unless something really life-threatening had happened; but if something really horrible had happened and he was in the hospital, Spencer would _know_.

Spencer knew he was considered sort of mildly popular at school, but the truth of it was that he didn't have that many close friends. He had a lot of people he waved to in the hallways and people he ate lunch with, but outside of school Spencer really only hung out with Brent and Brendon and Ryan. The idea of Brendon not telling him on purpose made Spencer a little sick; he didn't have that many friends to spare if Brendon decided to drop him.

Spencer spent a lot of time rolling his eyes around him, but Brendon was sort of like this weird intensifying factor in Spencer's life. Everything was just slightly more awesome when Brendon was around. Even when something shitty happened it usually ended up being fun, like the time they got stuck at the mall until midnight because there was an accident on the Strip and Spencer's parents were two hours late. Spencer would have been bored out of his mind if he'd been alone; with Brendon, it felt like no time at all had passed before his parents were pulling up and apologizing profusely and fussing over them as though they'd been gone for days.

It wasn't like it was with Ryan, it was just--Brendon was a cool guy. Spencer kind of wanted to make sure he was okay.

Spencer grabbed his backpack and shouldered his way down the aisle at his stop, pausing to high five that guy from his English class and say hey to Janine--Janelle? Spencer could never remember--from Band.

_Whatever_, Spencer thought, walking up his driveway, but it felt a little forced. He figured he would play some Xbox and then call Mrs. Urie and everything would turn out to be fine.

*

Ryan sent him a text around six, just as Spencer was dialing Brendon's house number on the cordless. He dug his cell out of his front pocket and flipped it open one handed, rolling his eyes at the screen: _tarah's mom going out 2 dinner n movie my life is awesome._

_don't get pregnant_ Spencer texted back, then hit "Call" on the cordless. It rang a few times before someone picked up; Spencer was passed along to a few Urie relations, average age seven, before Mrs. Urie actually answered. Spencer still had no idea what her first name was; in his head she was always just "Mrs. Urie," like someone's maiden aunt or something.

"Hi, Mrs. Urie? It's Spencer, Spencer Smith," Spencer said, trying his hardest to sound like a fine upstanding young citizen who was totally worthy of keeping Brendon company while he was dying of the plague. "Is Brendon there?"

"Spencer, I--Who gave you this number?" Mrs. Urie said, and something about her voice just sounded wrong, too tense. Spencer felt his stomach tighten.

"Brendon did?" Spencer said, frowning.

"Did he tell you to call him here?" She sounded almost hopeful.

"No, I just, He missed--" _band practice_, Spencer thought, but he couldn't say that to Mrs. Urie. "He missed work and no one's really seen him, I just thought maybe--"

"Spencer, he," Mrs. Urie said, then didn't say anything again for a long time. There was a slight catch to her voice when she started talking again, so quiet that Spencer had to press his ear to the phone to hear her. "He doesn't live here anymore, Spencer. You shouldn't call this number again."

"But if he isn't--" _What_, Spencer thought numbly. It didn't even make any sense--if Brendon wasn't living with his parents, then where--

"I don't know," Mrs. Urie said, and yeah, she was definitely crying. Spencer bit his lip, feeling like absolute shit. It was bad enough when he made his own mother cry. "Spencer, please--if you see him, tell him...he can call me at work. If--if he wants to. I know he doesn't want to talk to his father, but maybe--"

"Okay," Spencer said blankly. "Sure, I"ll--I'll tell him." Spencer wanted to say _sorry_ but he wasn't even sure what he'd be apologizing for. There were only so many reasons Spencer could think of for Brendon leaving, or getting kicked out, or whatever the hell happened. Reason number one was definitely their band. Spencer didn't think apologizing now would do a whole hell of a lot of good.

"Thank you," Brendon's mom said softly, after a long moment where neither of them said anything. Spencer nodded at the phone and made some more meaningless small talk and then hung up.

_Fuck_, Spencer thought, staring blankly at the phone in his hand. Ryan had been joking yesterday, but if even Brendon's parents didn't know where he was? Too many possibilities darted through Spencer's mind, none of them particularly pleasant.

Spencer hit "2" on his speed dial without really thinking. He felt bad for a moment when Ryan answered his phone with a hissed "Spencer, _what?_" but he shoved it aside. Brendon could conceivably be dead in an alley somewhere; that was way more important than Ryan's dick.

"When was the last time you called Brendon at home?" Spencer said, mind working furiously. Brendon had gotten his cell phone right after Christmas, so they'd all stopped calling his house number then. But Brendon's mom sounded like she hadn't heard from him for a while, not like he'd been kicked out a few days ago. Nothing was adding up.

"Are you fucking kidding me," Ryan said flatly. "You interrupted us to ask when the last time I talked to Brendon's parents was?"

"Brendon's parents kicked him out," Spencer said tightly. "I just talked to Mrs. Urie. I don't know when he left or what happened, but she basically pleaded with me for him to call her. He hasn't been going to school and he missed practice and Jessica said he hasn't been to work in at least three days."

"Fuck," Ryan said quietly, exhaling into the phone. "So no one knows--"

"No," Spencer said. "I was hoping you'd have an idea," he said quietly, staring out the window.

"You need my car?" Ryan said, and Spencer could hear him shushing Tarah quietly in the background. "I mean, we could drive around, maybe--"

Spencer glanced over at the key rack next to the front door; the keys to the station wagon were still there and Spencer was pretty sure this qualified as enough of an emergency that his parents wouldn't kill him for taking the car out on his learner's permit. "No, the station wagon's in the garage," Spencer said. "I can take that, I just don't know where to _go_."

Ryan was silent for a few moments, thinking. "What about Kara?" Ryan said, finally. "I don't know her number, but. Kara's cool."

Spencer nodded slowly. He probably should have thought of that before; if Brendon was going to keep in touch with anyone in his family, it would definitely be Kara. "Do you remember what her married name is now?" Spencer said, crossing the living room to pull out the White Pages from under the coffee table. "I don't think she's under Urie, she's been married for like three years."

"It's like, G something," Ryan said. "Gibson, Gilson...Glaser! It's totally Glaser. Maybe."

"With an s?" Spencer asked, flipping through. "Or a z?"

"Uhhhh," Ryan said. "I don't know, dude. But she lives in Sovana, I think."

"Found it," Spencer said, stabbing at the listing with his pointer finger and smudging the thin newsprint where it said _Glaser, Eric &amp; Kara, 346 Honey Trail Drive_ with an unfamiliar number. "I'll call you back," Spencer promised, hanging up. He felt a little dizzy.

The first call went straight to the answering machine. Spencer blanked for a moment, listening to the beep of the machine and the cheery message, then hung up. He had no idea what to say that wouldn't sound creepy, or weird, or like it was an emergency, which--okay, maybe it was a little bit of an emergency, but Spencer would feel sort of dumb if Brendon was just blowing them all off.

He grabbed a soda from the kitchen and tried again; Kara answered on the third ring, sounding breathless, like she'd been running to the phone.

"Glasers, this is Kara," she said in a warm tone.

Spencer swallowed. "Hi, Kara?" Spencer said. His voice cracked a little and he winced, clearing his throat. "It's Spencer, Brendon's friend?"

"Spencer..." She said, trailing off, "Spencer, Spencer--Oh! _That_ Spencer!"

"Yes?" Spencer said awkwardly. At least she remembered who he was.

Kara laughed, "What, my little brother driving you crazy? Did he put you up to this? Put him on the phone, he needs to know that prank calling his sister isn't okay."

"He's not here," Spencer said, deciding to get straight to the point. "Um, I was actually hoping you might--do you know where he is? Where he's been living?"

"What do you mean, where he's been living?" Kara said, her voice a little more guarded. "He lives with our parents, he's 17."

"Look," Spencer said, everything tumbling out in a rush. "Look, I--I talked to Mrs. Uri--your mom, and I know, okay? I know. And I don't think I'm supposed to know and I don't know like, _everything_ but Brendon's sort of gone missing and we need to find him and make sure he's okay and I don't know even know where to _start_."

"Gone missing, you mean like..." Kara trailed off.

"Like no one's seen him in three days, not school or work or us. He won't answer his phone."

There was a hissing sound on the other line, like Kara was sucking in air between her teeth. Spencer waited for a moment. He could hear voices in the background, what sounded like an adult and two children talking and laughing. He wondered what kind of early-summer dinner he was interrupting, how badly he was going to ruin Kara's cozy night with her family. His stomach growled at the thought of food and Spencer made his way into the kitchen, still waiting for Kara to reply.

"He _really_ didn't want me to--I guess if you know, it's okay," Kara said finally, sounding defeated. "You really haven't seen him?"

"Really," Spencer said, quickly assessing the contents of his refrigerator. It was all leftovers, nothing he would be able to eat on the way to wherever Brendon is, and he shut the door reluctantly. "I wouldn't be calling if I had."

There was a sound on the other line like Kara was digging through some things on a table--a set of keys jangling, then the heavy _thwack_ of a stack of magazines being moved.

"He didn't have a choice, you know," Kara said distractedly. "I don't know what my parents told you, but it's not like he could have--they shouldn't have done that. He's just a _kid_."

"Yeah," Spencer said, like he had any idea what she was talking about.

"Okay," Kara said finally, once the noises on the other end had quieted. "I'm not supposed to have this. Please don't tell my parents I told you."

"I don't think I'll be speaking to them any time soon," Spencer replied, entirely truthfully. "Considering."

"Yeah," Kara said. "Okay. 3875 Cambridge St, I don't know the apartment number."

"Shit, wait, I need a pen," Spencer said, fumbling for one on the kitchen counter. He made Kara repeat it twice, jotting it down on the corner of Wednesday's _Summerlin View_. Spencer kind of knew where it was, a shitty neighborhood in back of the Strip he'd only really driven through, never walked around. He wondered how Brendon had been able to afford it, working just nights and weekends and still going to school and practice.

"He's--I've been helping him out a little," Kara said defensively, when Spencer asked.

"Right," Spencer said. "I need to--I'm just going to go check on him."

"I'm sure he's fine," Kara said, but it sounded a little hollow. "Just--tell him to call his sister, okay? When you see him."

"Absolutely, I--thanks, Kara," Spencer agreed. "'Bye."

"Okay," Spencer said to himself, after a moment spent staring blankly at his feet. Right. He was going to go get in the car and find Brendon. Spencer grabbed the keys from the hook near the door and purposefully didn't think about what might be waiting for him in Brendon's apartment.

*

It took thirty-three minutes to get to Brendon's apartment building. Spencer spent it alternately tapping on the steering wheel and flipping through radio stations, willing the lights to turn green faster. He found the neighborhood after a few wrong turns, making the right onto Cambridge near a broken-down bodega with a rusting sign. Someone was panhandling in a dirty t-shirt just outside the door. Spencer missed the building the first time around; it was set back from the road a little, with weeds sneaking up through the cracks in the sidewalk outside the front door.

Spencer rolled up all the windows and locked the doors, parking at the end of the block. It wasn't that his shitty station wagon was a tempting target--there was nothing in there to steal besides the radio--but Spencer wanted to be careful. He wished he'd had the forethought to change before he left the house; he was wearing bright pink sneakers and a green hoodie and Spencer knew he was sticking out like a sore thumb. Someone catcalled at him as he reached the entrance. Spencer squared his shoulders and tried the door. It was locked.

"Shit," Spencer mumbled. He walked around the back of the building, to see if maybe there was a fire escape or a back entrance, but despite the weeds growing in the alleyway and the crumbling, discolored exterior, the building was secure and all the doors locked. Spencer was torn between feeling pleased that Brendon was at least living somewhere reasonably safe--for this neighborhood, anyway--and wanting to punch something. He turned back to the front, sitting down on the concrete steps and resolving to wait until someone let him in. There was still a fair amount of foot traffic, even for the late hour; people coming home from work and children on bikes and people sitting out in yards and on porches, talking and relaxing. Spencer figured eventually someone who lived here had to come home.

About half an hour later his patience was rewarded; Spencer was distracted, watching some kids play an impromptu game of basketball in the middle of the street, when the jangle of keys alerted him that someone was walking up to the building. Spencer waited for the woman to get her keys in the lock and then held it open for her, walking ahead to hold the interior door when he saw how she was juggling two bags of groceries and a small child, a girl with curly pigtails and huge, solemn eyes. The woman murmured a thank you and Spencer nodded, trying not to be too obvious about scanning the mailboxes for Brendon's name. Most of them were unlabeled, and the few he could read definitely didn't say "Urie." Spencer briefly considered just knocking on doors at random, but he had no idea what he would say if someone actually answered. He had no idea if Brendon even knew anyone in his building.

Other than the wall filled with mailboxes, there was nothing else in the foyer except for an elevator that was obviously broken. It looked like it had been that way for a while, the metal door covered in a thin film of dust and hanging out of the tracks at an odd angle, like something large and heavy had been slammed into it from the inside. Spencer stared at it for a moment and then decided to take the stairs. If nothing else, he could walk the halls and maybe find a name on a door. The lights on the stairwell flickered uneasily when Spencer pushed open the fire door and Spencer swallowed, thinking about Brendon having to climb the dirty stairwell, day in and day out. It looked like something out of a horror film; Spencer firmly reminded himself that there was probably no one waiting in the shadows with a knife and then took the stairs three at a time anyway.

The fourth floor looked to be mostly storage closets and locked rooms, with a few apartments at the end of the hall clustered around a lone dirty window. Spencer walked slowly down the hallway but couldn't identify anything about the occupants except that one was watching the news at high volume (probably not Brendon, Spencer didn't think he owned a TV and anyway, he wouldn't be watching the news) and one seemed to be making Indian food, if the delicious smell in the hallway was anything to go by (definitely not Brendon). Spencer frowned and went back into the stairwell to try the third floor.

Halfway down the third-floor hallway Spencer noticed a piece of junk mail was stuck to the bottom of his shoe. He grimaced and pulled it off gingerly--he really, really didn't want to know why it was sticky--but not before noticing the lettering that announced that a Mr. Urie had a pre-approved offer for a 0% Introductory APR. Something in his chest squeezed a little tighter and Spencer backtracked carefully, re-checking the first three apartments, noting that there was a smudged envelope sticking out of the mail slot on number 306. He paused for a moment, considering; mail tampering was technically a crime. Spencer shrugged internally and pulled on the corner with slightly shaking fingers, easing it out of the mail slot. It looked like a utility bill, a large PAST DUE notice stamped on the cheap paper, but it was definitely addressed to Brendon Urie.

Spencer took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

It wasn't even latched properly, swinging open at the first tap of his knuckles against the cheap pasteboard. There was a moment where Spencer was just frozen, trying to remember how to breathe. _This is bad_, Spencer thought, a little hysterically, trying to will himself to stay calm. It was strangely silent in the hallway and all Spencer could see through the door was a silver of beige carpet and what looked like a shoe. Not a shoe with a foot in it, or anything, just a sneaker that Spencer had seen a million times before. On Brendon.

Spencer paused in the doorway, hovering nervously, indecisive. He couldn't quite get up the courage to push the door open and go inside but he also couldn't seem to run away and let someone else handle the situation, someone like his parents or even maybe the cops, the people he probably should have called in the first place. He told himself that maybe Brendon wasn't even home, maybe he just forgot to lock the door and he was sitting at Brent's house right now or even in Spencer's kitchen, laughing and asking his mom when Spencer would be home and flirting outrageously with Jackie and Crystal the way he always did.

Maybe.

And then Spencer thought about how what if Brendon was in trouble _right now_, what if he was sick or bleeding or hurt behind that door and Spencer was just standing here like an asshole trying to get up the courage to walk inside. Just because he was scared of what he was going to find didn't mean it was an excuse.

Spencer squared his shoulders and pushed open the door.

*  
_4 months ago_

Spencer leaned up against the porch, arms crossed, staring out into the yard at Brendon.

"This would work better if you'd let me pitch them to you," he said.

"But what if I hit you in the face," Brendon said, attempting to hit another apple over the fence with the twin's cheap whiffle-ball bat. So far he was 0-3, but his enthusiasm didn't seem to be lagging.

"I'd survive," Spencer said, uncrossing his arms and walking over towards the crumpled plastic bag still filled to the brim with overripe apples."I'd smell like apple juice, but I'd survive."

"You're a trooper," Brendon said, failing to connect with his fourth apple.

(Brendon had slammed the car door when Spencer picked him up a few streets over from his house. Spencer had raised an eyebrow inquiringly, but all Brendon would say was "We need to go to the supermarket," hunched over in his hoodie in the front seat. His smile was bright but his hands had been shaking, just a little. Spencer knew better than to argue.)

"Seriously," Spencer said, picking up an apple from the ground. "I'm going to throw and you're going to hit and this is going to go a lot easier. Just don't break anything."

"You don't trust my mad baseball skills?"

"I haven't seen your mad baseball skills," Spencer said. "I'll trust them when you manage to hit something." He lobbed the apple at Brendon with an easy, underhanded toss.

Brendon bit his lip and concentrated--his stance was way off, shoulders too wide and grip on the bat too high, but he managed to land a glancing blow. The apple dribbled away into a corner of the yard.

"Better," Spencer said, selecting another victim. "Don't grip the bat so high."

"Spencer Smith, baseball virtuoso," Brendon muttered under his breath, but he adjusted his grip and got a solid hit on the next apple. It burst into pieces with a solid-sounding thunk.

"That was awesome," Brendon said, lighting up. "More, more, c'mon, I got this."

Once Brendon seemed to have gotten the hang of it, Spencer starting switching up his pitches; Brendon kept up with him until he started throwing overhand.

"Ow," Brendon said, rubbing his shoulder and wincing. "That fucking hurt, you throw hard."

"I'm not the one massacring innocent apples," Spencer said. Brendon tossed him the apple back and he wound up for another throw. "So, are we going to talk about it, or--"

"No," Brendon said immediately. "Whatever, I'm fine." His jaw was pulled tight.

"Okay," Spencer said, shrugging. "Just saying, if you wanted to--"

"I"m good," Brendon said quickly, faking intense concentration. Spencer sighed inwardly. He sort of wished one of his friends--just one--would try to communicate like a normal human being occasionally.

Brent just didn't talk; Ryan would pull himself in all tight and sharp, like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. Brendon would laugh and refuse to admit there was a problem. He'd be more twitchy than normal, restless energy needing an outlet. If Brendon had had a fight with his parents (again), Spencer was perfectly willing to continue throwing apples at Brendon until the end of time if it meant some of that destructive energy dissipated. He'd only seen Brendon freak out on them once, but that was more than enough.

"Ryan's got a new girlfriend," Spencer said, after a while, when he was bored of thinking of ways to get Brendon to talk. It wasn't exactly privileged information; Ryan was terrible at remembering to tell people things.

"Again?" Brendon said, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of one hand. Spencer sympathized; it was fucking hot out, even at 6 o'clock in the evening.

"She's pretty cool," Spencer said, shrugging. Brendon raised an eyebrow until Spencer amended his sentence with "Okay, Ryan says she's pretty cool, I haven't met her."

"So she's not sticking around?" Brendon said mildly.

"It's been a week," Spencer said. "I don't know. I don't have like, automatic girlfriend veto power, you know."

"You kind of do," Brendon said.

"You say that," Spencer said, "and then it never happens." Spencer almost wished he had automatic girlfriend veto power. Ryan had a tendency to fall head over heels for the kinds of girls who would grind his heart to dust. Just because Tarah seemed okay so far, well. Spencer wasn't feeling optimistic.

"One of these days," Brendon said contemplatively, quirking an eyebrow, "he's going to run out, you know."

"Run out of what? Hormones?" Spencer said, fumbling in the bottom of the bag for an apple. They were starting to run low; uneven pieces of apple littered the ground like hailstones, broken into misshapen chunks.

"Girls," Brendon said.

"I would be more concerned about girls running out of _Ryan_," Spencer said. He'd seen it happen before. It wasn't quite like Ryan was beating them off with a stick or anything, but it seemed like there was always someone hovering around the wings, ready to swoop in and heal his broken heart after another relationship had gone sour.

"I don't get it," Brendon said, frowning. "Not that Ryan isn't cool and all, but--"

"He's," Spencer said, and then stopped. He kind of understood what girls saw in Ryan, actually, but he felt weird saying it out loud. "I think they think he's, you know. Mysterious."

Brendon snorted. "I'm mysterious," he said, inspecting an apple chunk. "How come I don't have girls lining up to date me?"

"Uh-huh," Spencer said. "Maybe your fashion sense is mysterious."

"Lavender is totally manly," Brendon said, pulling out the hem of his t-shirt to inspect it. "Also you have a unicorn on your shirt, shut up."

"I never said _I_ was mysterious," Spencer said. "I'm perfectly aware that I'm boring and lame. And I like unicorns, so shove it."

"I don't think you're boring," Brendon said, biting his lower lip and staring intently at the apple. His cheeks were a little pink. Spencer realized belatedly they should have brought something outside to drink; he didn't need Brendon passing out on him from heatstroke.

"Thanks," Spencer said dryly. "Your opinion is duly noted. But unless you're planning on making out with me, that's doesn't really help my love life." He picked up the last apple in the bag and threw a nice, solid pitch at Brendon.

"I--" Brendon said blankly, and swung the bat. He landed a perfect hit; the apple arced through the air, not even exploding on contact. They both watched silently as it sailed straight through the window of the Masterson's house next door.

"Shit," Brendon said, dropping the bat in shock. "Motherfucking--"

"No, don't leave it there, they'll know it was us," Spencer hissed, grabbing the abandoned bat as Brendon raced back towards the house. "C'mon, c'mon, let's _go_, let's--"

Spencer slammed the sliding porch door shut. He could hear someone yelling outside. Mrs. Masterson sounded _pissed_.

"No one saw it," Brendon said, breathing hard and leaning one hand on the glass door. "They can't prove a thing."

"There's apples all over the yard," Spencer pointed out.

"We'll say it wasn't us," Brendon said.

"Dude," Spencer said. "Dude, we're so fucked." Spencer bit his lip to keep from laughing. He knew it was more likely mild hysteria than anything else, but Brendon had hit a fucking _apple_ with a _baseball bat_ into his neighbor's window, how ridiculous was that?

"I didn't think that was even possible," Brendon said, snickering openly now that he saw that Spencer was trying not to laugh. "I thought it would break, all the other ones sort of of exploded--"

"They're going to go up there," Spencer said, "and they're going to be all pissed off and looking for a baseball--"

"--and there's going to be an apple just sitting there--" Brendon interjected, cracking up. "And they are going to be like--"

"What the _fuck_ is this shit?" Spencer finished, trying to breathe. "Oh my god, their faces, they're going to storm over here and show my parents an _apple_\--"

"What if we cleaned it all up?" Brendon said, sobering. "Got rid of the evidence, all super stealthy-like. We could just grab some trash bags and pretend we were, I don't know, weeding?"

"Do you even know how to weed?"

"Mormon, dude. Man labors for the fruit of the earth, all that shit."

"That doesn't even make _sense_," Spencer said. "You don't need a garden to be Mormon. You've never weeded in your life, admit it."

"Shut up," Brendon said, rummaging under Spencer's kitchen sink for trash bags. "I can totally fake it."

"We're still going to get in trouble," Spencer pointed out. "I mean, we can tell them I was the one who hit it into their window--"

"What? No," Brendon said sharply. "I did it, it's my fault, I'm taking the blame."

"But they'll tell your parents," Spencer said, confused. "The worst that will happen to me is that I'll get grounded, maybe I'll have to pay for the window. If they tell your parents--" Spencer trailed off.

"Fuck my parents," Brendon said. He had the trash bag clenched in one hand and he was staring out the kitchen window into the backyard, his shoulders suddenly tense. "Let them find out. It won't change anything."

"Won't change what?" Spencer asked.

"They already think I'm--you know what, never mind," Brendon said, his shoulders slumping back down. "It's not your problem, you don't want to hear about it."

"Hey," Spencer said, reaching out to stop Brendon as he tried to shoulder past him in the doorway. "Hey, no, seriously. You want to talk about it?"

"Thanks," Brendon said, trying to pull away. "But you've got enough people to take care of."

"That's not," Spencer said, frustrated. He didn't let go of Brendon's arm. "Ryan and I are--it's just different," Spencer said, because it _was_. Taking care of Ryan was like breathing; Spencer did it unconsciously. "Ryan's stuff is his stuff," Spencer said. "It doesn't mean that yours doesn't matter."

"It's just family shit," Brendon said, after a few moments of silence. "They think i'm a fuckup."

"You're not a fuckup." Spencer said automatically.

"I have to meet with like, our Bishop." Brendon said. "So he can tell me all about how I'm on the wrong path and I'm fucking up my life."

"Because of the band?" Spencer said, taken aback.

"Because of everything," Brendon muttered. "Not just the band. Other stuff too."

"That's fucking stupid," Spencer said. "You're like. You're a way better influence than half the people I hang out with."

"Tell that to my parents," Brendon said, staring at his shoes. "Anyway, it's. Today kind of sucked, that's all."

"I think," Spencer said, and then stopped. Brendon's family problems had been getting worse and worse lately; normally Spencer would have tried to figure out a way for Brendon to stay over, even on a school night, but he was pretty sure they were both going to be in a lot of trouble when his parents got home. "Let's do this," Spencer said, dropping Brendon's arm and letting him by. "We'll clean up the backyard, take the bat with us in the car and throw it in a dumpster, and then we'll go to a movie at the mall."

"What movie?" Brendon said. "Can you even take the car out that late?"

"I'll figure it out," Spencer said, pulling out his phone to text his mom. "And something with explosions."

"Massive explosions," Brendon said, opening the door to the backyard. "Huge, fuck-you explosions."

They cleaned the yard mostly in silence, trying to be as discreet as possible about removing all the evidence. Brendon didn't really say much until they were speeding towards the highway in Spencer's mom's station wagon. "Thanks, Spence," Brendon said quietly, staring out the window as rows of identical houses and shops and gas stations rushed past. "You like. You didn't have to do this."

"Don't worry about it," Spencer said, flicking on his turn signal and checking his mirrors to switch lanes. The girl in front of him was going like fifteen miles an hour, seriously. "It won't be this bad forever, I swear. They'll chill out soon. "

"Yeah," Brendon said. "Maybe."

*

Spencer pushed open the door slowly, even though it was far too quiet for Brendon to be home. Everything was silent and still, unnaturally so.

Also, Brendon's place was kind of a shithole.

It could only charitably be called an apartment; it was one room, with a kitchenette in a corner and a tiny door next to the entrance that hung half-open, revealing a stand-up shower with cracked tiles and a toilet. The paint was chipped and peeling slightly, and towards the back upper corner of the room there was a large, uneven stain on the ceiling. Spencer took in the entire contents of the room in a glance: mattress on the floor in the opposite corner from the stain; sink and hot plate and tiny microwave along one wall; clothing piled haphazardly into plastic tubs and laundry bags; trashcan overflowing near the door, stuffed with ramen wrappers and discarded cans of soda.

It looked, Spencer thought, as though someone had attempted to clean it and lost interest halfway through, either to lack of time or lack of energy, or both. Dishes were piled up in the sink, soaking in slightly greasy water. The clean pile was markedly smaller than the dirty pile. Next to the overflowing trash can, two additional bags of trash were tied up neatly, waiting to be taken outside.

Spencer bit his lip, thinking. He didn't feel odd about standing in the doorway, because it was definitely Brendon's apartment. His purple trainers were discarded next to the door and Spencer could see various items of clothing that no one but Brendon could own sticking out of the laundry pile. The real issue was that Brendon wasn't there, and the door had been left unlocked, and although it confirmed Spencer's suspicion that Brendon was a complete fucking idiot who wouldn't know how to ask for help if it smacked him in the face, it didn't answer the more important question of where the fuck Brendon _was_.

Spencer was pulling his cell phone out to call Ryan and brainstorm for ideas when the mattress moved. He only saw the movement out of the corner of his eye, but it was enough to startle him, make him jump back and make a noise that Spencer would never, ever admit to making.

Spencer crossed the tiny room in four long strides, ignoring the way his heart thudded in his chest. There was definitely someone in the bed; once he got closer he could see a small patch of dark hair peeking out from under the sheet. It was hot and stuffy in the apartment, the air conditioner sluggishly pumping air in fits and starts, but it almost looked like whoever was in the bed (Brendon, it had to be Brendon, and Spencer was going to _kill him_ just as soon as he'd satisfied himself he was all in one piece) was shivering.

Spencer reached out a hand, and the lump coughed, thick and wet and painful sounding. Spencer's hand made contact. Brendon jerked weakly.

"Wha," he mumbled, pulling the sheet down, and then his eyes widened. "Fuck," Brendon moaned, thumping his head back down on the dirty pillowcase. "Spencer, _go away_."

"Brendon, _what the shit_," Spencer said, because he was an asshole who didn't think before he talked.

Brendon coughed again, and just the sound of it made Spencer swallow unconsciously, like he had to check and make sure his own throat was clear. "I'm going to close my eyes," Brendon said, voice raspy and thin. "And count to ten, and when I open them you're not going to be here, okay?"

"You need to see a doctor," Spencer said, frowning. He'd gotten a good look at Brendon's face when he raised his head, and he looked like absolute shit, his lips cracked and eyes glassy. "Why didn't you just call me, you're such an idiot, you look like death warmed over--"

"Leave," Brendon said, then had to pause for breath as he coughed. "Leave me the fuck alone, Spencer, seriously," Brendon said, rolling over, putting his back to Spencer. "It's just a cold, I'll be fine."

"Bullshit," Spencer said, reaching out a hand to feel Brendon's forehead, and then gripping his shoulder with his other hand when Brendon tried to jerk away. "I did not drive halfway across town for you to tell me to fuck off--shit, seriously, we need to get you to the hospital," Spencer said, jerking his hand away. Brendon's forehead was so hot it was almost painful, his hairline soaked with sweat.

"I'm not going to the hospital," Brendon rasped, shivering, but it seemed like just talking had sapped some of the energy out of him. It lacked the force of his earlier protest.

"That's nice," Spencer said. "Now put some pants on, we're going."

"How did you even," Brendon said, then trailed off, eyes slipping closed. "What," Spencer said, panicking a little, shaking Brendon's shoulder. If Brendon passed out Spencer was pretty sure he'd just have to call an ambulance and then...things would get complicated. Spencer wasn't leaving the apartment without Brendon but he wanted to at least try getting him in the car before he resorted to 911. "Brendon, don't--what were you going to say?"

"Find this place," Brendon mumbled, one hand trailing along the side of the bed, obviously searching for something. "You're not even supposed to be here, 's a secret."

"I had some help." Spencer said, and prayed Brendon wouldn't remember this conversation later. He didn't want to get in the middle of an all-out Urie family war. "Here, here," Spencer said, finally figuring out what Brendon was looking for--there was a half-empty bottle of water shoved under one corner of the mattress, dented and lukewarm. "No, just sit up, I'll give it to you," Spencer coaxed, screwing the cap off one handed. He held the bottle carefully while Brendon drank and took his hand away when it seemed like Brendon had a strong enough grip on it to not pour it down his front.

"Okay," Spencer said, digging through the pile of clothing closest to the mattress. "Is all of this clean?"

"'m not going to the hospital," Brendon muttered.

"That's fine," Spencer said. "But you do need to see a fucking doctor."

"Can't," Brendon said, and tried to laugh. It turned into a full-body cough, his thin shoulders shaking.

Spencer rubbed his shoulder soothingly and tried not to think about how worrying hot the skin was under his palm. "Can't what," Spencer said, pulling out a pair of thin cotton sleep pants and a t-shirt that seemed reasonably clean.

"I don't--Spencer, I don't have any money," Brendon said tiredly, managing to get in a full sentence for once.

"We can deal with that later," Spencer said, and tugged the sheet down. He immediately averted his eyes.

Of course Brendon slept naked.

Of _course_.

"Sorry," Brendon said quietly, and reached down to try to drag the sheet back up. He winced when he sat upright, like his entire body ached.

"No, it's okay," Spencer said immediately, feeling horribly guilty, one hand still clutching the sleep pants. "Just--can you just stand up? It's fine, we can--it will be a team effort." He smiled, trying to look encouraging, and not like he was a perv who got off on checking out his naked friend who was clearly dying of the plague. Spencer could feel himself blushing, it wasn't like he'd been _trying_ to look, it was just--whatever. He had more important things to worry about.

Brendon gave him a look that clearly said he would be arguing if he had any strength left to argue. It took him a few seconds but he managed to get upright and Spencer made sure Brendon was holding onto his shoulder before lifting his legs up and maneuvering him into the pants. Brendon's hipbones felt strange and sharp under Spencer's fingers and Spencer swallowed a little nervously before handing Brendon his t-shirt and helping him get it on.

Brendon didn't release his hold on Spencer's shoulder, even when he was dressed. He gave Spencer a tired look that clearly said _now what, genius?_

"The elevator's broken," Spencer said ruefully. "Can you make it down the stairs?"

"I'm not _dead_," Brendon pointed out, and stumbled when another full-body shiver wracked his frame.

"Yeah, no, you're not walking," Spencer said, grabbing a hoodie off the floor and handing it to Brendon. It seemed ridiculous in the 70-degree heat, but Brendon was cold and Spencer was worried. Spencer turned around. "Up, come on."

Brendon sighed like Spencer had stepped on his favorite CD, but he climbed carefully up Spencer's back, locking his arms around Spencer's neck and resting his head against Spencer's shoulders. _Jesus, he must really feel like shit if he's complaining about a piggyback ride_, Spencer thought distantly. Brendon smelled sharp, and his body was a hot, damp weight all down Spencer's back.

"Keys?" Spencer said. "We need to lock it." He didn't add _because you aren't coming back here if I can help it, you fucktard_. That was an argument for later, once Spencer was sure Brendon wasn't going to pass out on him.

"Counter," Brendon mumbled into the back of Spencer's neck, and sure enough there was a set of keys on a key chain, sticking out from underneath a pile of unopened junk mail and a moldy tub of Cup o' Noodle.

Spencer locked the door behind him and carefully navigated the three flights of stairs down, stopping every so often so Brendon could readjust his grip and Spencer could evenly distribute his weight. When they got outside the apartment building Brendon sort of slid down Spencer's back, boneless. Spencer let him.

"Shit," Spencer said, looking down. "Shit, we forgot your shoes, just--wait here, I'll go get them."

"How far is the car?" Brendon said, and Spencer pointed three cars down on the sidewalk.

"It's fine," Brendon muttered, walking forward a little unsteadily.

"No it's not," Spencer said helplessly. "You don't have any shoes," but Brendon was already almost to the door of the car, looking like he was about to pass out again. "Dammit," Spencer muttered, hurrying to catch up. He unlocked the passenger-side door and Brendon sort of fell into the seat, tilting his head back like it was too heavy for his shoulders. Spencer unlocked the driver's side and stuck the keys in the ignition, turning the air conditioning on full blast but leaving the doors unlocked. He didn't want to take the chance of Brendon falling asleep and locking him out of the car with the motor running, but. Brendon seriously needed shoes before they would let him into the hospital ER.

"Wait," Brendon mumbled, turning his head and slitting his eyes open. He sort of shuffled his knee, like he was poking at something with his foot, and Spencer stared at him uncomprehendingly until Brendon dropped his head and stared at the floor of the passenger seat. Spencer leaned over and saw that Brendon had managed to shuffle one foot into a pair of his mom's old flipflops. They were sparkly and bright purple.

"Okay," Spencer muttered, shrugging. "You know what, that's fine," and slid into the driver's seat. He had the keys in the ignition and was checking his mirrors to pull out when he realized he had no idea where to take Brendon. It was getting on nine o'clock; the only thing that Spencer knew for sure was open was the ER, but he didn't want to take Brendon to the one in Summerlin in case word got back to his parents. He had no idea where to go on the Strip.

Brendon definitely couldn't wait until morning, though. In the pale light of the streetlamps he looked even worse, his breathing labored and his skin patchy and sallow.

"Wait here," Spencer said, getting back out of the car and pulling his phone out of his pocket. "'kay," Brendon mumbled, trying to curl up awkwardly in the passenger seat. He was still only wearing one flip-flop.

Spencer crossed around the back of the car and leaned up against the hood, one hand holding his cell phone up to his ear, the other playing nervously with the car keys. His mom answered on the third ring. "Hi honey," she said, to a background of blaring Christina Aguilara. "Crystal--_Crystal_\--No, I don't care if it's your favorite song, turn it _down_, your brother is on the phone."

"Hi mom," Spencer said. Hearing her voice on the phone did strange things to his stomach. Spencer wished briefly that he was still young enough to think his mom could make everything all better.

"If this is about the tacos," his mom said, "I told you last week we were having pulled pork and you said it was fine."

"It's not about the tacos," Spencer said. "It's um. It's. Mom, if someone was really sick and didn't have any health insurance, where would you take them?"

"Spencer," his mom said, her voice suddenly serious. "Are you okay? What's going on?"

"I"m fine," Spencer said quickly. "No, it's--seriously, Mom, I'm fine, it's not me."

"Is it Ryan?" Mrs. Smith asked, lowering her voice a little so the twins couldn't hear.

"No," Spencer said, mouth twisting with a sense of just how ironic this situation was. "It's not Ryan, It's--look, can I explain later? I just. It's kind of an emergency."

"Why can't you just go to the Summerlin ER?" Mrs. Smith asked, "If it's really an emergency, just take the station wagon--"

"I'm not--I'm near the Strip," Spencer said, wincing at exactly how guilty he sounded. "Look, I promise I didn't do anything bad and it's not Ryan and I didn't break the law, I just, I need to know where to take someone who's really sick and needs to see a doctor and it can't wait until morning."

"So you already took the car," Mrs. Smith said, unimpressed. "Spencer, seriously, _what is going on_\--"

"Mom, _please_," Spencer pleaded, cutting her off. He could hear the note of slight hysteria creeping into his voice, but he was also sixteen and practically alone on the wrong side of the strip at night and Brendon was far too silent and still in the front seat. "I promise I'll explain everything later, just--"

"Okay, okay," Mrs. Smith said soothingly. "Calm down, honey, I believe you. Where are you?"

"Cambridge Street," Spencer said, and his mother made an unhappy noise. "I know, I know."

"There's a 24-hour clinic near the intersection of South Eastern Avenue and Route 589, do you think you can find your way from there?"

"Yeah," Spencer said, coming around the side of the station wagon and sliding back into the driver's seat, "I can find it, I'll call you later when I know what's going--"

"_Spencer James Smith_," Mrs. Smith said warningly. "You will not 'call me later,' you will call me in two hours or you will be home by that time or we are going to have _words_, do you understand me, young man?"

"Yes," Spencer said, wincing. "I promise, two hours, absolutely."

"Okay," his mom said, "then go do what you need to do. Love you," and clicked off.

Brendon stirred tiredly in the front seat. Spencer jammed the keys in the ignition and started the engine.

"No hospital?" Brendon said weakly. He was probably trying to sound intimidating; he came off as petulant.

"No hospital," Spencer agreed, pulling the car out into the street.

*

Brendon frowned down at the urine sample cup in his hand. "My _throat_ hurts," he rasped out. "I don't need to pee in a cup. Why do I have to pee in a fucking cup?"

Spencer leaned forward, scrubbing his face with his hands and making the cheap plastic chair squeak with his movements. Brendon was sitting on the examining table, looking tiny and fragile in his worn hospital gown.

"Brendon," Spencer said tiredly, "Go pee in the fucking cup." Spencer was starving and the fluorescent lights were giving him a headache. He considered going to see if there was a snack machine somewhere around--the clinic was huge, practically an ER on its own except it wasn't attached to any hospital--but he didn't really want to leave Brendon alone. Granted, it was a building full of doctors. It was just the other patients Spencer didn't really trust.

"But there's nothing wrong with my dick," Brendon mumbled.

"_Brendon_," Spencer said sharply. "If you don't man up and pee in the goddamn cup I will follow you in there and _make_ you."__

Brendon made a horrified face.

"Exactly," Spencer said darkly. "Don't think I won't."

"Jesus, _fine_," Brendon coughed, and slowly eased off the side of the examining table, holding his gown closed with one hand. He disappeared through the thin curtain separating their examination room from the main ward. Spencer resisted the urge to stick his head through and make sure Brendon didn't die on the way there.

It had taken them two hours in the waiting room before they'd even been shown to a ward. It had been cramped and hot and noisy, crying children sitting on laps and people speaking in hushed languages Spencer couldn't identify. A wiry man in a stained t-shirt and sweatpants had laughed, low and ugly, as they passed through the automatic doors, Brendon shuffling forward tiredly with a Spencer's steadying hand wrapped around his bicep.

"That your boy?" he had leered at Spencer, looking Brendon up and down with a calculating gaze.

"No," Spence said shortly, and made sure they were as far away as possible when they finally sat down. Spencer felt uncomfortable and exposed and wished, again, that he had changed before he left the house. Brendon dropped his head tiredly on Spencer's shoulder and Spencer reached up to card a hand through his hair before he thought better of it and settled for rubbing his back where the creepy guy couldn't see.

Spencer called his mom once they were finally in the ward, explaining that they'd just gotten in to see someone and that he wouldn't be home for a few hours still. His mom sounded kind of pissed off, but Spencer just didn't have the energy to deal with it; all his adrenaline had ebbed away after the endless hours of waiting and left him feeling drained and weary.

What seemed like an unending parade of nurses came through, asking the same questions over and over and poking and prodding at Brendon until Spencer thought he was going to scream. He didn't understand what the big issue was; Brendon was obviously sick and if they'd just give him some goddamn medicine they could both go home.

Brendon came back through the curtain a few minutes later, followed by a doctor who introduced herself as Dr. Moreno. She took his temperature again, listened to his chest and looked at his throat, and made a few notes on her clipboard.

"You have strep," she said finally, when Spencer was just opening his big mouth to ask what the fucking holdup was.

"See?" Brendon said, coughing and trying to smile like nothing was wrong. It came off as more of a grimace. "Spence, I told you I was fine."

"...and walking pneumonia, and possibly bronchitis," the doctor continued, raising an eyebrow at Brendon. "You should have come in days ago, you're very lucky we saw you in time. Another few days and we would have had to take you directly to the ER."

"Oh," Brendon said.

"Mr. Urie, you can change back into your clothes," she said. "Mr." --she glanced down at her clipboard-- "Smith, can you step outside with me for a moment?"

"Is it--Spencer? Okay. Spencer. Where are Brendon's parents?" she asked quietly, as soon as they were standing outside the curtain.

"Uh," Spencer said, stalling for time. It felt like there was a wad of cotton stuffed in his brain; it was making it hard to think. The space behind his eyes felt heavy. "They aren't around."

"Never mind," the doctor said, sighing like she was used to this conversation. "Forget I asked that. Where are you taking him after this?"

"My house," Spencer said quickly. "My parents are there."

"Okay," the doctor said, scribbling on a prescription pad. "Look. If you can promise me someone will stay with him for the next 24 to 48 hours, I'll let you take him home. He's very ill, he's very dehydrated, and I wouldn't go so far as to say he's malnourished, but he needs to eat."

"Right," Spencer said.

"If he has trouble breathing or his fever gets any worse, you need to take him to the hospital," she said. "I'm going to send you home with some things tonight, some Tylenol-3 for the pain and the fever, but we don't have the kind of antibiotics he needs in stock. You'll need to fill these and start him on them as soon as possible in the morning." She tore two prescription slips off her pad and handed them to Spencer. "Mandatory bed rest for a week, even if he's feeling better, which he should after a few days. Lots of fluids. The antibiotics might make him sick, but if he can't keep anything down he needs to come directly back here or to the ER so we can put him on an IV."

"Right," Spencer said again. He felt sort of numb. "He'll, uh. Need a doctor's note. For school."

"Call tomorrow and we can fax it over on Monday," Dr. Moreno said briskly. "I'm going to give him some Tylenol-3 before he leaves here, make sure you take him right home. He's going to be pretty out of it."

"Sure," Spencer said. "Um, how much do we owe for the--"

"It's sliding scale," the doctor said. "Pay what you can, the medicine we give you here is free, but you'll need to fill those prescriptions on your own. Can you afford it? If not, I'll need to have him transported."

"Yes," Spencer said immediately. "It's fine, we'll figure it out." Spencer was pretty sure his mom would lend him the money, and if not, he had a few hundred stashed away in his underwear drawer, left over from Christmas cards and various odd jobs. It was his emergency money, but Spencer figured this definitely counted.

Brendon was dressed by the time Spencer came back in. A nurse was handing him a small plastic cup filled with something brown and viscous; Brendon made a face but drank it down. "This is yours," the nurse said, handing Spencer a paper bag stuffed with samples and a larger bottle of the brown stuff. "Directions on the leaflet; you have the prescriptions?"

"Yeah, we're good," Spencer said.

Brendon made a face when Spencer tried to take his arm as they walked back towards the registration area. "I'm _fine_," Brendon muttered, jerking his arm back.

"Were you even listening?" Spencer said. "Because I could have sworn the doctor just said--"

"Whatever," Brendon said, but didn't protest when Spencer walked closer than normal, just in case.

"How much is it, I can," Brendon said weakly, when they were back in Reception.

"No," Spencer said.

"But--" Brendon said.

"Sit _down_," Spencer said tiredly, pushing him into a nearby chair. "I'm paying. Deal with it."

Brendon glared at him.

"Oh, for the love of--you can pay me back," Spencer said. "You didn't even bring your wallet, dumbass." The woman behind the desk took a long, hard look at Spencer and then over at Brendon, shivering in his sweatshirt, and asked quietly "Do you think you can manage forty?"

Spencer handed the woman everything in his wallet and began the process of herding Brendon out the door and into the car.

"How are you feeling," Spencer said, once they were halfway home. "Tired," Brendon said woozily. "Th' street lights are all blurry."

"Awesome," Spencer said. He hoped he wouldn't have to like, carry Brendon up the stairs. Maybe his dad would be home and he could carry Brendon. Drumming had been doing nice things for his upper body strength, but he wasn't sure he could handle 125 pounds[r1] of dead weight. "Stay awake until we get home, okay?"

"Totally," Brendon slurred. Spencer turned the radio up a little louder.

*

Spencer's mom was asleep when they stumbled in at one-thirty, but his dad was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee with a slightly nervous expression. It smoothed out once Spencer walked in from the garage with all of his limbs intact.

"Spencer," his dad started, and Spencer knew the signs of him gearing up for a lecture, and Spencer was way too tired to deal with that shit.

"Brendon's in the car," Spencer interrupted. "We need to get him in a bed. They gave him some stuff at the clinic, he's all out of it."

Jeff sighed and put down the cup of coffee. "Why do I have the feeling I'm not getting the whole story?" he said.

"Because you aren't," Spencer said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Look, Dad. I can explain in the morning, but I didn't eat dinner and I've been sitting in a clinic for four hours and I've been up for almost twenty-four. Can I sleep first?"

"Where are Brendon's parents," Jeff said slowly, getting up from the table and following Spencer out to the garage.

"Not around," Spencer said shortly. He didn't know how to make it any more clear that he didn't want be having this conversation right now.

"Are they on vacation?" Jeff said, frowning. "I guess Brendon can stay here, if he needs to, but I'm not sure I understand _why_."

Spencer sighed and resisted the urge to bang his head against the side window. Through the glass, Brendon was curled up into a ball in the front seat, dozing fitfully. He hadn't seemed to notice Spencer or his dad standing just outside.

"They kicked him out," Spencer said, trying to convey the maximum amount of information with a minimum of words. "I don't know why, I'm pretty sure it was the band, I'm pretty sure he's been lying to us this whole time and it happened a long time ago, he stopped showing up for work and practice and school, I found his apartment and tracked him down, the clinic said he's so sick he probably should be in the hospital but they said he could go home with us as long as you guys help me take care of him, and I'm fucking exhausted and would you please just help me carry him up the goddamn stairs so I can go to sleep?"

Spencer's dad looked at him for a long moment, his expression an odd mixture of pity and pride. "You're a good kid," Jeff said finally, sounding a little sad. "But you can't save everyone, Spencer."

"Less talking, more helping," Spencer said bitchily, unlocking the passenger door. Normally he was pretty sure he'd be grounded for talking to his dad this way, but there were extenuating circumstances, Spencer felt, like how he needed to fucking sleep and also how he really didn't need a lecture right now on his tendency to try and save people. He was well aware of this fact and he had never been able to understand why his parents had always given him that look and insisted on following it up with a gentle reminder that Spencer didn't have to solve everyone's problems.

Spencer reached down and shook Brendon's shoulder gently. Brendon made an unhappy noise and tried to curl in tighter on himself.

"Hey, come on, wake up," Spencer said softly. "We're home. We need to get you in a bed and then you can sleep."

"Don't wanna," Brendon slurred, blinking slowly. " 'm good right here."

"You're in the garage," Spencer said patiently. He was tired and grouchy, but he wasn't going to take it out on Brendon. "Do you want us to carry you?"

"Nah, I can walk," Brendon mumbled, trying to clumsily maneuver himself out of the car. He caught his foot on the door and nearly fell face-first into Spencer. "Yeah," Spencer said, holding onto Brendon with both hands tight around Brendon's biceps so he didn't fall over. "This might go easier if we just carried you." He shot a look over his shoulder at his dad, who was hovering off to the side. "Here, put your arm around my neck," Spencer said, trying to get Brendon to hang on to him in a way that wouldn't cause them to both fall over. He tucked his other arm tightly around Brendon's waist, supporting most of Brendon's weight. It was still precarious, though, and Spencer wasn't sure what would happen if Brendon decided to throw his weight in the opposite direction. Jeff moved over to Brendon's other side, supporting the rest of Brendon's weight, and Spencer nodded over Brendon's head at his father's raised eyebrow inquiring if they were good to go.

It worked fine until they got to the stairs. Brendon sort of nuzzled into the crook of Spencer's shoulder when they paused to rest, humming softly. Spencer could feel himself flushing but his dad didn't seem to notice. "I think this is a two person job," Jeff said. "I'm not sure the three of us can make it up the stairs side-by-side. Here, just let me take him--"

"It's fine," Spencer said tiredly. Brendon hummed into his shoulder. "We're both going upstairs anyway. I can do it. Just go to bed."

"Are you sure?" Jeff said, frowning. "He's kind of heavy."

"Dad, it's _fine_," Spencer said, glaring at him with his best don't-fuck-with-me-right-now look. Jeff held up his hands in a symbol of acquiescence, a sort of _hey, do you what you want, if you don't want my help that's fine_. Spencer just nodded and turned to Brendon, settling Brendon's arm more firmly around his shoulders and tucking him close into his body.

"You're going to have to step up," Spencer said softly. "We need to go up the stairs now."

"Stairs," Brendon mumbled. " th'fuck are there so many stairs everywhere? 'm tired."

"Your life is hard," Spencer said, only it wasn't as funny as it normally was. "C'mon, up, first step."

"Your face is hard," Brendon slurred. "Haaah!" Spencer rolled his eyes fondly. Brendon's body pressed up against his own wasn't quite as hot as before; the medicine they'd given him at the clinic was probably starting to take his fever down. It made Spencer a little less worried, but not by much. Brendon only tripped twice, once on the fifth stair, and then again at the top of the landing when he didn't seem to realize he didn't have to step up anymore. "Whoa," Spencer said, steadying them both when Brendon almost fell over. "Okay, no more stepping up. We're good on that for now."

"'kay," Brendon mumbled, drooling a little on Spencer's t-shirt where his head was resting on Spencer's shoulder. " 'm thirsty."

"Yeah, you need to drink water before you go to sleep," Spencer said, remembering the doctor's instructions. They finally made it to the bedroom, and they sort of half-walked, half-fell towards the bed. Brendon let out a tiny sigh when he finally flopped down, like it was the best thing to happen to him all day. Spencer thought ruefully it probably was. He grabbed a glass that looked fairly clean from his bedside table, rinsing it out in the sink and filling it up with tap water. He made Brendon drink two glasses before Brendon made an unhappy noise and shoved the third glass away with clumsy fingers. "Okay," Spencer said, setting the glass on the bedside table in case Brendon got thirsty in the middle of the night. He reached out and brushed Brendon's sweaty hair off his forehead, and then felt a little too much like his mom, and then decided he was too tired to care. Brendon leaned into his touch. Spencer scratched his head a little and Brendon practically purred, his breathing settling out into deep, wheezing breaths.

Spencer stood up and wiped his sweaty hand off on his pants, stumbling down towards the couch and thinking of nothing but sleep. His dad had left the light on the table next to the couch on, and Spencer could barely even be bothered to take his clothes off; he kicked off his shoes and pulled a blanket off the back of the sofa, considered getting up to find an actual pillow, then decided that moving was way too much effort. He fell asleep, in his clothes, with the light on.

*

Spencer woke up to a cup of coffee six inches from his nose.

"Up, drink," Ginger said firmly. The living room was far too bright and Spencer had to blink a few times before he could focus. He yawned and then moved to sit up on the couch when his mom nudged at his feet.

"_Why_," Spencer said, feelingly, when he looked the clock on the VCR. It was 6:38 on the dot; his mother was obviously a sadist.

"You tell me," Ginger said, calmly sipping her tea. "Why is Brendon coughing up a lung in your bedroom?"

"Uhhhh," Spencer said, still trying to wake up. He took a tentative sip of his coffee and winced. "Ow."

"It's hot," Ginger said.

"Thanks, I noticed," Spencer said. He took a deep breath. "Uh, okay, so, Brendon's parents kicked him out and he got really sick and no one knew where to find him so I kind of went to go find him and make sure he wasn't dead?"

"When you say kicked out..." Ginger said, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean like, kicked out." Spencer said, sucking on his coffee. "Like he was living in a shithole apartment down near the Strip kicked out."

His mom frowned. "Really?"

"Yes," Spencer said.

"Huh," Ginger said eventually. "That's. Well."

"Yes," Spencer said. It really did sort of sum up the whole situation. "I'm sorry I took the car."

"So am I," Ginger said. "I was going to ground you for the weekend."

"When you say grounded...," Spencer said. Not that he was going anywhere in the near future, with Brendon dying in his bedroom and all.

"I'll talk to your father," Ginger said eventually. "We'll see." Spencer stared groggily out the window while his mom turned the news on, and they drank their beverages in companionable silence for a while.

"Shit," Spencer said, sitting up suddenly, after three commercial breaks, two breaking news segments, and the weather report. "Shit, you can't ground me, I need the car to fill Brendon's prescriptions--" He dug in the pocket of his jeans, standing up when he pulled two crumpled pieces of paper out of his front pocket. "Do you know where I put my shoes?"

"Sit," Ginger said, pushing him back down and taking the prescriptions out of Spencer's hand. "You're not driving anywhere on four hours of sleep. What does he need? Antibiotics?"

"A fuckton of antibiotics," Spencer said. "Like, the doctor didn't want me to take him home, they wanted to keep him in the ER, he needs them like ASAP--"

"Don't say fuckton," Ginger said distantly, scanning the slips.

"I have money," Spencer said immediately. "I can pay for it, it's just, he really needs them soon or he'll have to go back to the Clinic and then we'll have to call his parents and I don't--"

"Spencer, _calm down_," Ginger said firmly. "I am perfectly capable of filling Brendon's prescriptions without you looking over my shoulder. I'll go do it right now, there's a 24-hour pharmacy on Commercial Street."

"He doesn't have health insurance," Spencer said, biting his lip."That's why I said I'd pay for it, I've got some money saved up--"

"I'll bill his parents," Ginger said, toeing on a pair of sandals.

"_Mom_\--"

"I'm kidding," Ginger said, rolling her eyes. "You can pay me back. We'll work something out. If he needs the medicine now, he needs it now, and that's that. You should probably give him some more of that cough syrup while I'm out," she said, motioning at the coffee table where Spencer had dropped the supplies from the clinic last night.

"Right," Spencer said, in a small voice, chastened.

"Wake up Brendon," Ginger ordered politely, grabbing her keys from the hook by the door, "give him that cough syrup, then go back to sleep in the den. I'll deal with his medication when I get back."

"But--" Spencer said, but his mom was already out the door. "Fine," Spencer grumbled, grabbing the cough syrup and stumbling upstairs. He was tired, but it wasn't like _he_ was the one dying. She didn't need to get all mother-y on his ass.

"Brendon," Spencer said softly, poking the lump in his bed. It gave him an odd sort of disorientation to see someone who wasn't Ryan sleeping there, especially when Spencer himself wasn't in it.

Brendon didn't respond.

"Um," Spencer said. "Brendon--_Brendon_\--"

"Wha?" Brendon said finally, sniffling loudly as Spencer shook him awake. "Ow," he mumbled, shoving his face back down into the pillow.

"Up, I need to drug you," Spencer said, setting his coffee on the table. Brendon reached out for it and Spencer slapped his hand away. "No," Spencer said. "You're supposed to be sleeping, I'm not giving you caffeine."

"Unf," Brendon said. He looked like he was trying to pout, but he was coughing too much to pull it off.

"Damn straight," Spencer said. "Now sit up and drink this."

"It tastes like ass," Brendon rasped out.

"Your mom tastes like ass," Spencer said, holding the cup out carefully. "C'mon, Brendon, drugs." He waggled the cup just a little.

Brendon shuffled slowly into a position that was vaguely upright. He reached out a hand for the cup and missed.

"Oh my god," Spencer muttered, scrubbing his face. "It's too early for this. Look, just stay still and I'll--" Spencer leaned in a little, trying to get close enough to pour it down Brendon's throat and not on the comforter. Brendon stared at him blankly.

"Open your mouth," Spencer said. "This isn't that hard."

"S'what I said to your mom last night," Brendon mumbled.

Spencer whacked him on the side of the head, then leaned in quickly when Brendon opened his mouth to protest, dumping the entire contents down in Brendon's throat in one go. Brendon coughed and sputtered. "Fucking--"

"Hah," Spencer said. "I win."

"Dick," Brendon muttered.

"Go to sleep," Spencer said. "_I'm_ going back to sleep."

"kay," Brendon mumbled, scrunching himself back down under the covers. Spencer rinsed out the dosage cup in the upstairs bathroom, then tiptoed quietly back into the room to stick it on top of the bottle. He reached out a hand without thinking and then hovered awkwardly for a moment. He'd been about to ruffle Brendon's hair, he realized. Spencer didn't know how he felt about that.

He settled for woodenly patting Brendon's shoulder. Brendon hummed a little bit, but didn't move.

"Right," Spencer said to himself, and made his way back down to the den.

*

Spencer woke up the second time to the sound of "MYYYYYY MILKSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE BOYS TO THE YARD," blaring in his ear. He flipped open his phone without looking. There was only one person who had that ringtone; Spencer had downloaded it specifically for him, mostly because he liked being an ass to his best friend.

"Ryan, for the last time, I don't care about your dick," Spencer mumbled.

"That works out well for both of us," Ryan said. "Did you find Brendon?"

"He's sleeping upstairs," Spencer said, yawning and glancing at the clock. It was a slightly more reasonable hour than it had been the last time he checked. "I had to take him to the clinic and shit."

"Wow," Ryan said, after a pause. "So what's wrong with him?"

"Uh," Spencer said. "Strep. And like, bronchitis. And walking pneumonia. Basically death flu."

"Damn," Ryan said. "So I should forgive him for missing practice."

"Probably," Spencer said. "Actually, I should go make sure he's still alive."

"Yeah," Ryan said. "I'll come over later?"

"Sure," Spencer said, and then his brain caught up with him. "Wait, no, shit, are you insane?"

"That was _one time_," Ryan argued. "It's not my fault your immune system is all hardcore."

"Yeah and it's not my fault you were sick for two weeks," Spencer said. Ryan had come over to keep him company one time sophomore year, when Spencer had what the doctor thought was a mild cold. Unfortunately, on Ryan, that 'mild cold' had quickly turned into pneumonia. "You're not coming over," Spencer said. "I don't have time to keep track of two of you. And I don't have any more beds."

"Spencer--"

"No," Spencer said. "Not until he's been on the antibiotics for like, a day. Two days. At least."

"What am I going to do all afternoon?" Ryan grumbled.

"Update your Livejournal," Spencer said. "I'm sure your adoring public misses you."

"You're just jealous," Ryan said. "Of my ass."

"Seriously," Spencer said, stretching, "I would love to continue this conversation about your ass, but I need to see if there's a dead body in my bed."

"Don't kill my lead singer," Ryan threatened. Spencer raised an eyebrow at the phone, even if Ryan couldn't see it. Apparently all it took to win Ryan's loyalty was a near-death experience; Spencer filed that information away for future use.

"I'm working on it," Spencer said. "I'll tell him you'll be pining away until he gets better. You should write him a poem."

"Or I could not," Ryan said. "So, Sunday?"

"Maybe," Spencer said. "I"ll call you, it depends." He bullshitted with Ryan a little longer, until Spencer heard his mom yelling his name from the front of the house. "Later," Spencer said quickly, flipping the phone shut and making his way into the kitchen. He made a face as he swiped his hair out of his eyes. He really needed a fucking shower.

"We're going out," Ginger said, ushering Crystal and Jackie through the front door. "Prescriptions on the table, they're all three times daily, so he needs food in his stomach and then dose him for the afternoon. Soup's in the cupboard."

"Okay?" Spencer said blankly. "Can I shower first?"

"He's your friend," Ginger shrugged. "Try not to get whatever it is, he's still contagious."

"Mom, we're not going to, like, snuggle," Spencer pointed out. "I think I'll be okay."

Jackie giggled, and Ginger rolled her eyes. "Out," she said to the twins, and then pointed at Spencer. "I'm taking the keys," she said, pulling the ones to the station wagon off the hook by the door. "Grounded until Sunday, that's the decision. Brendon can stay here until he's better, and then we're all going to sit down and talk."

"Fine," Spencer said, shrugging. It was honestly more than he'd hoped for. Not that he'd really thought his parents would make Brendon leave, but Spencer had expected to be in a hell of a lot more trouble. Apparently good deeds counted for something.

Spencer caught a whiff of himself as he walked over to the refrigerator and winced. He tried, and failed, to remember the last time he'd showered; maybe Thursday night? He should probably get on that.

He thought about it for a second, then went back and turned the coffee maker back on. No sense in wasting all that time in the shower for nothing.

*

_1 month ago_

Brendon felt pretty sure that if he could just get some coffee, he'd be okay.

He had six more hours of work before he could go home, and he couldn't actually remember the last time he'd slept for more than three hours at a time, but. There was a lot to be said for the restorative power of caffeine.

Brendon wiped down the countertop one more time and then walked into the back room, which was more of a storage closet than anything else. He dug around in his backpack for a while until he came up with his wallet, which was about as empty as he expected it would be. He pulled his backpack off the hook and set it down on the floor, pulling out a handful of change and counting it out carefully. It added up to exactly one dollar and eighty-six cents which, plus the change in the tip jar, was probably enough for a double-shot espresso. He silently prayed that the nice supervisor was on shift, an older lady who occasionally gave him a break and gave him free drinks. Brendon suspected it had less to do with his carefully cultivated friendliness and more to do with his habit of counting out change to pay for his coffee.

He carefully hung the BACK IN FIVE MINUTES! ;) sign on the door, shutting it but not locking it, since he didn't actually have the keys. The Starbucks kiosk was only a few stores down, and he was technically due for a half-hour lunch break, but considering he was the only one working, Brendon knew that wasn't going to happen.

The nice supervisor was nowhere to be seen. The only person working tonight was a bored-looking teenager about his own age, leaning up against the register and surreptitiously texting someone on her cell phone. Brendon briefly considered flirting with her, just to see if maybe she'd give it to him for free, but the thought made him feel a little empty inside. He paid for his coffee and left, walking slowly back to the store and sipping carefully so as not to spill a single drop. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket just as he was pulling open the door and he set his coffee down on the counter once he got inside, digging in his jeans with one hand. His skin felt itchy, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had enough extra money to do laundry. Brendon was trying to hold off on calling Kara as long as possible, but he was pretty sure someone was going to notice soon that he'd been wearing the same jeans for two weeks straight. His supervisor had lectured him about it, once. It had been humiliating. Brendon didn't want to repeat the experience if he could help it.

He flipped open his phone to see a text from Spencer and one from Ryan; Ryan's was all business, a question about specific chords for a song they were working on. Brendon thought about it for a moment, tapping his fingers out on the counter, trying to remember the fingering. He thought it was D, A sharp, and then G, but he wasn't certain. He shrugged and sent that back as his reply, adding in a extra _??????_ at the end so Ryan wouldn't bitch at him if he got it wrong.

Spencer's text was nothing important, just bitching about his history homework, but it made Brendon smile ruefully all the same. He typed out _at least ur not making smoothies_ and hit send.

It kind of sucked being in love with your best friend.

Brendon had spent a lot of time lying to himself, a lot of time hoping things would change, that one day he'd wake up and find God or whatever and that God would take fucking pity on him, but it hadn't happened yet. There were only so many things Brendon could lie to himself about at any one time, and right now _My parents still love me_ and _Maybe I'm not going to hell_ and _Things will get better someday_ were pretty much the only ones he had any energy to believe in.

So, yeah. Brendon was kind of in love with Spencer and it fucking sucked, because Spencer was the kind of guy who would literally drop anything for his friends, for Brendon. Spencer kept extra Red Bull at the practice space, stashed behind his kit where Brent and Ryan couldn't see, and always remembered to text him when he had long shifts at work, and more than once had dropped everything to go get Brendon, when he just couldn't be at home anymore, surrounded by icy silence and disappointed looks. There were days when Brendon thought _maybe_, when Spencer looked at him sometimes and Brendon allowed himself a little bit of hope, but even Brendon knew deep down he was probably just fooling himself.

Some days Brendon wished he'd picked some douchebag jock to be in love with. He suspected it might hurt less.

Brendon slid his coffee to the side when a mom and her two kids came in, loaded down with shopping bags from some of the pricier specialty stores in the mall. She ordered three smoothies and handed him a twenty when she paid, told him to keep the change and Brendon wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, he didn't need her charity. He smiled politely instead, said thank you, waved to the four-year old who grinned at him through the glass, two hands clutched around her child-sized smoothie cup. Brendon sighed after they left, his face falling, and slid the ten into his wallet. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten something that wasn't smoothies or easily microwavable; Brendon knew he should save it for laundry, but all he wanted was a fucking burrito. Maybe if he stopped at Taco Bell he could afford something off the dollar menu and then save the rest of it.

His phone buzzed again, with another text from Spencer. Brendon flipped it open and read _touche. how's work going i saw Mark at the supermarket today he says hey n he'll be there for dinner sunday_. Brendon bit his lip. He didn't doubt that Spencer was telling the truth, but it hurt more than he expected, knowing his older brother had done that entirely to keep up appearances. It was as though he didn't even exist to his family, except when someone asked about him, and then it was probably _oh, no, he's doing great, just, you know, so busy, he's such a responsible guy_, as though no one would notice that Brendon hadn't set foot inside his own home in three months. Brendon leaned up against the counter for a second, overwhelmed by a wave of longing so strong his legs felt week. He missed his fucking room and his stupid posters and the fridge full of food he didn't have to pay for and Sunday dinners and air conditioning that actually worked.

God, he even missed his _parents_. That was a first.

Brendon shook himself and stood back up again, scrubbing at his eyes with one hand. _Get a grip_, he thought to himself irritably. Feeling miserable wasn't going to change anything. He was probably just tired. Anyway, it didn't matter because he still had five more hours and then homework and then he had to get up and do it all over again, on top of band practice, tomorrow. If Brendon started feeling sorry for himself he was pretty sure he'd just stop getting out of bed in the morning and eventually starve to death, and. He wasn't there quite yet.

_cool_, Brendon texted back, smiling a little bitterly at the lie. _i'll tell my parents when i get home._

*

"No, you can't have my cereal," Spencer said, frowning. "This is your soup. I made you soup." He pointed to the bowl of vegetable soup sitting on the bedside table.

"That's sweet," Brendon coughed. "But I really want some fucking cereal."

"Oh, well then," Spencer said, lifting the bowl to sip at the milk.

"I'll cough on you," Brendon threatened weakly.

"Try it," Spencer said. "Wait, don't actually try it," he said quickly. "Seriously, you can't have dairy with the antibiotics. Eat your soup."

"I want ice cream," Brendon said.

"That's dairy," Spencer pointed out. "Also, I'm grounded, I can't go get you ice cream."

"Shit," Brendon said, looking immediately sorry. He made as though to push back the covers. "I can go, I mean, if someone can just drop me off--"

"Um," Spencer said, staring in disbelief, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. "_Brendon_. You can barely walk you're so sick. You're not going anywhere, Jesus."

"But your parents," Brendon said, grimacing.

"My parents," Spencer said, "grounded me for taking the car out without a license. For a day. I'm pretty sure they only did it to keep up appearances. You're staying here for at least a week, the doctor wanted you on bed rest for seven days."

"But what about--"

"_Chill_," Spencer said. "My parents love you. It's cool."

"Oh," Brendon said quietly, as though Spencer's statement had been some sort of revelation. "But did you tell them about--"

"Yes," Spencer said. "It's fine."

Brendon reached over to grab a tissue, blowing his nose loudly and throwing it on the pile of used ones near his right leg. "They don't think I'm a bad influence?" he said.

"Yeah, you and your tissues are going to tempt me to a life of sin," Spencer said, rolling his eyes. "Anyway. You're cool here for a while. Ryan was going to come over later, but I told him he couldn't."

"Okay?" Brendon said, frowning. He reached over for the tray with the soup and started to carefully guide it to his lap. His hands were still shaky but he looked slightly better after sleeping for almost 16 hours straight. Spencer hoped the antibiotics were starting to kick in, even though he knew rationally it was too soon to tell.

"He has the immune system of a gnat," Spencer said.

"Oh, right," Brendon said, then paused. "Wait, crap, I'm going to get you sick, why are you even sitting here?"

"You spent all of yesterday breathing on me," Spencer said. "I'm not dead yet, I think I'll be okay."

"Yeah," Brendon said, toying with his spoon. "Listen, about that--"

"You're a fucktard?" Spencer said, setting his cereal bowl aside. "_Why yes, Spencer, I am_," Spencer answered himself, mimicking Brendon's voice. "_I have no idea how to ask for help because I'm a complete fucking idiot who thinks I can do it all_\--"

"It wasn't like that," Brendon said softly, not making eye contact. "I was--I was doing okay."

"Brendon," Spencer said, then stopped. He didn't even know what he wanted to say. There were too many conflicting emotions inside for Spencer to process; he finally settled on, "You're an idiot. We would have helped, you know."

"I know," Brendon said, biting his lip. "But it's not like--it's my _fault_, you guys shouldn't have to pick up my slack--"

"What do you mean, it's your fault?" Spencer said incredulously. "Brendon, your parents _kicked you out_, there's nothing you could have done to deserve that."

"Are you sure about that?" Brendon said. He shoved a spoonful of soup in his mouth with single-minded concentration, not meeting Spencer's eyes.

"Look," Spencer said. "Did you rape someone? Murder kittens? Are you secretly a serial killer?"

"What? No," Brendon mumbled around his spoonful.

"Okay then," Spencer said. "So your parents are assholes and it wasn't your fault."

Spencer paused. "It was the band, wasn't it?"

"I--" Brendon said, then fell silent. "Yeah," he said softly, after a few seconds. "It was."

"Shit," Spencer said softly. He'd been expecting it, almost, but it didn't change the fact that hearing Brendon say it out loud was like a punch to the stomach.

"So okay," Spencer said, taking a deep breath. "Okay. So you stay here for a week and then we'll talk to Ryan and Brent. I think—maybe if you coached him, Ryan could go back to singing lead? Or we could find someone else, I mean, not that I want to find someone else—" Spencer shot a pained look at Brendon, who was frowning. "But I mean, if you need to leave, we sort of need a singer."

"Who said anything about leaving?" Brendon rasped.

"You're not serious," Spencer said flatly. "Are you fucking retarded?"

Brendon focused very intently on slurping the extra broth out of his soup bowl.

"Brendon," Spencer said patiently, "Do I need to use smaller words so you get it, or something? You're living in a shithole. You could have _died_."

"It's not that bad," Brendon argued back, coughing. "I was doing okay, seriously, I mean I know the place kind of looks like shit right now but when I have time to clean--"

"Brendon, it's not _worth it_," Spencer burst out, unable to hold back. "This--our band--we're not fucking worth it. Not for this."

"What if I think we are?" Brendon said, glaring back at Spencer. "What if I think we can actually fucking make it, Spence? Seriously, Ryan's songs are sharp enough and your drumming is awesome and Brent's…well, he's all solid and stable and reliable and shit, right? And I can sing the fuck out of those songs, you _know_ I can, we just need a fucking chance and I can't get that living with my parents, I just—" Brendon slumped back against the pillows, overwhelmed by deep, barking coughs.

"Okay," Spencer said, a little shell-shocked. He was pretty sure that was the longest sentence Brendon had managed in the past 24 hours; his throat must be killing him. "I didn't--I'm sorry," Spencer said lamely, after an awkward moment where Brendon wouldn't meet his eyes again. "I just thought--I didn't know." There was so much about their band that Spencer chalked up to Ryan's drive, Ryan's sheer ambition; Spencer wondered how he could have been so fucking blind to see that Brendon needed a way out just as much as Ryan did.

"I can't live with my parents, Spence," Brendon croaked out again, wincing as he reached towards the glass of water on the side table. "There's no point. I'm not the person they thought I was and I fucking well don't want to be." He shot a look at Spencer and even through the tiredness and the pain on Brendon's face Spencer could see how sharp his expression was, how unexpectedly fierce.

"You should sleep," Spencer said, standing up suddenly and walking towards the doorway. Spencer knew there was a solution to this problem, he just couldn't think of it right now with Brendon staring at him, all hollow, determined bravado. "Your throat sounds like crap, you need to rest your voice."

"I meant it," Brendon said quietly. "Everything I said, I meant it, you know that right?" He looked strangely guilty for a moment.

"I know," Spencer said, equally quietly. He bit his lip. "We're going to fix this, I just--I need to figure out how."

"You can't fix this," Brendon said. "You can't fix everything, Spencer."

Spencer tilted his chin up, defiant. "Prove it," he said, and closed the door softly behind him.

*

Sunday passed in a blur of yardwork and chores and catching up on all the homework Spencer had avoided all weekend.

("But Brendon's sick," Spencer had tried to argue, staring moodily at his pancakes. "I should be making sure he's okay."

"God forbid you ever procreate," Ginger said, rolling her eyes fondly. "He doesn't need you to stare at him while he sleeps. That doesn't actually help him get better.")

Brendon did sleep for most of the day, but by three he was feeling better, sitting up and demanding that he was bored and Spencer should entertain him. The antibiotics were definitely working; Spencer allowed himself an internal sigh of relief and then punched Brendon on the shoulder.

"That's abuse," Brendon coughed. "You're abusing the infirm, I'm calling the police."

"I'll abuse your face," Spencer said. "Monopoly? Or Trivial Pursuit. Or Parcheesi, I guess." Spencer gave the Parcheesi set a disparaging look.

"Monopoly," Brendon said, sitting up and arranging his pillow-nest into something more conducive to board games. It seemed as though there were far more pillows in Spencer's bed then Spencer remembered. Either they were breeding, or Spencer's mom had been holding out on him.

"Where did you get all those pillows?" Spencer said suspiciously.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Brendon said, in between coughs. "No one bought my silence with Popsicles. I swear."

"Hmph," Spencer said. "I get to be banker. What kind of Popsicles?"

"The kind that you don't get to have," Brendon said, smirking.

"I know where the freezer is," Spencer pointed out. "I do live here."

"She hid them," Brendon said. "Can I be the top hat?"

The weird thing was, Brendon was good at Monopoly. He played with no sense of strategy, just threw himself into the game, but two hours later he was holding most of the property on the board and Spencer was left staring mournfully at his tiny pile of currency and four property cards.

"This sucks," Spencer said. "I forgot you were a Monopoly ninja."

"I have hidden depths," Brendon said. "It's your turn."

"Hidden depths, my ass," Spencer said. "No you don't."

"Yeah," Brendon said softly. He bit his lip, frowning a little at something Spencer couldn't see.

Spencer rolled the dice and landed directly on Park Place. "Fuck," Spencer said, but when he looked up Brendon wasn't even paying attention.

"Hey," Spencer said, waving a hand in front of his face. "Earth to Brendon. You won."

"Oh," Brendon said, looking up. He looked lost. And sort of nauseated.

Spencer frowned. "You okay? Do I need to go get a trashcan so you can puke in it?"

"I'm not going to puke," Brendon said, but he didn't look certain.

"Okay, yeah, I'm getting you a trashcan," Spencer said, standing up.

"I lied," Brendon blurted out, when Spencer was almost out the door. "Yesterday."

"About the band?" Spencer said, his stomach dropping. Brendon had totally gotten his hopes up, dammit. Spencer really didn't want them to have to find a new lead singer, despite what he'd said yesterday. Brendon just fit; Spencer didn't know how they would find someone else. He didn't want to.

"They didn't kick me out because of the band," Brendon said, very carefully not looking at Spencer. "The band definitely didn't help, but. It's not the real reason. They told me I couldn't stay in their house if I wasn't going to get help." Brendon hunched his shoulders, like maybe if he could make himself small enough, he could disappear.

"Get help with what?" Spencer said, completely lost. "Are you like. Brendon. Are you--are you doing _drugs_?"

"What?" Brendon said. "Oh. Oh, no, that's--no."

"Then--"

"I'm gay," Brendon said, very quickly, as though if he didn't force the words out, he wouldn't be able to say them at all. "They found out, and. Yeah. I'm sorry I lied."

"Oh," Spencer said. He blinked.

"I can go," Brendon said, in a small voice. "I mean, I'm feeling better, I don't need to stay. I just kind of want a shower and then I can--"

"What?" Spencer said, and grabbed Brendon's ankle when he tried to move. "Brendon, what the hell? I told you, you're not going anywhere, Jesus."

"I didn't think you," Brendon said, then stopped. "Your parents," he started up again. "I mean, if they found out, they wouldn't want me to--I shouldn't be here."

"I don't care if I have to tie you to this bed, you're staying here," Spencer said. "Brendon--_Brendon_, would you look at me?" Spencer said, waiting until Brendon carefully looked up at Spencer. "I don't care. You're still my friend. And if my parents care, which they won't, they can suck a dick," Spencer said firmly.

Brendon stared at him for a moment, his expression cautiously hopeful. Then he snorted.

"That's kind of my problem," Brendon said, biting his lip again, a ghost of a smile hovering around his mouth. "In a manner of speaking."

"What--oh," Spencer said, playing back what he'd just said and groaning. Brendon snickered. "Shut up," Spencer said, tugging on Brendon's ankle. "That is not how I meant it and you know it."

"Says you," Brendon said. His smile was subdued, but it was definitely there. Spencer had missed that smile.

"So, did you like," Spencer said, after a moment where they just sort of sat there grinning stupidly at each other. "Do you want to, you know. Talk about it."

"Not really?" Brendon said. "There's not much to talk about. I screwed up and they found out, and. Yeah." He shrugged, lifting his hands up slightly as if to say _what can you do?_ "They weren't very happy with me."

"Wait," Spencer said. "Wait is there--you're not like, dating anyone, are you?" The thought made Spencer feel a little hollow inside, even more lonely than he normally did, but he pushed it away. He was totally a supportive friend. He could do this.

"Hah," Brendon said. "No."

"Then how did you--"

"Forgot to clear my browser history," Brendon said.

"Oh," Spencer said. "That _sucks_, dude."

"They made me sit there while they opened it." Brendon said, coughing a little. "I'm scarred for life."

"Oh my god," Spencer said, horrified on Brendon's behalf. "I mean, are we talking like, I don't know, something informative? or porn?"

"Porn." Brendon said, flushing a little and looking away. "Definitely porn." Something curled low in Spencer's stomach at the thought. He pushed that away, too. It was just because Brendon was talking about porn, Spencer told himself. Not anything to do with Brendon.

"So," Spencer said a little awkwardly. He was saved by his mom calling from downstairs, telling him that dinner was ready. Brendon acted like he was about to stand up, and Spencer leaned over and pushed him back down. "Ha-ha, you're funny," Spencer said.

"I want spaghetti," Brendon said. He pouted a little.

"That's nice," Spencer said. "You're having soup. And pudding."

"Fuck you, I don't want--wait, pudding?"

"Scout's honor," Spencer said, holding up two fingers. "I saw it in the fridge."

"Well," Brendon said, giving Spencer a suspicious look, only slightly mollified. "If there's pudding."

*

_Totally not Brendon. Definitely porn_, Spencer told himself, when he was lying awake at 2am that night. He wanted to jerk off but he was sleeping in the den, on the couch his entire family sat on to watch movies. Spencer felt sure that would be crossing a line. A really, really creepy line.

Spencer sighed and booted up the family computer instead, making sure the door was closed so the light from the screen wouldn't carry into the hallway. He couldn't sleep; he might as well check his email, see if Ryan was online.

He wasn't.

His inbox was mostly spam, a few messages from various drumming boards he frequented, a couple emails from his aunt and uncle with family photos attached, a link from Brent that Spencer was afraid to click. He screwed around for a while until he got the courage to open up a new window and, very carefully, typed "gay porn" into the AOL search feature. Spencer felt rather daring.

It wasn't like--he was just curious, Spencer told himself. He'd seen straight porn, hell, he'd watched porn with Ryan, although that had ended up being kind of awkward when his dad had come home unexpectedly. Gay porn couldn't be that different, and anyway, it wasn't like Spencer didn't know what dick looked like.

Spencer clicked on the first link and stared at the screen for a full five seconds before closing the window. Then he cleared his browsing history, restarted, cleared his browsing history _again_, and turned the computer off with slightly shaking hands.

He didn't actually sleep much that night.

 

*

Monday morning sucked, because Spencer had to get up for school, and Brendon didn't.

He peeked in on his way to the bus; Brendon was a small, snuffling lump under the covers. Spencer closed the door extra-quietly, so as not to wake him. His head ached from not sleeping.

He saw Jess in Band during third period, by which point he'd had enough coffee to be half-way coherent and mumble something polite before the lecture started. Monday and Thursdays were lecture days; Jess used this to her advantage, sitting directly behind Spencer on the tier above and dropping a note in his lap while Mr. Chapman droned on about the history of Jazz. When Spencer unfolded it, it just said _did you find brendon? he's pretty much fired :(_ Spencer wrote back _yeah he got really sick he's okay though i'll tell him to call work_ and carefully reached back and tucked it under her shoe.

"So what happened," Jess said, leaning over his shoulder after the bell rang for class. "He just forgot to call in?"

"Um," Spencer said. He really should have thought of a better cover story for this exact situation. "Basically, yeah. You think if he gives them a doctor's note they'll let him have his job back? He was really sick. He almost had to go to the hospital."

"Probably," Jess said, shifting back and forth on one foot. "You should tell him to come by tonight and talk to the managers, I'm working again."

"He's still on bed rest," Spencer said absently. "He's kind of stuck at home."

"But _you_ could come by," Jess said.

"Oh," Spencer said, tuning back into the conversation, which had somehow gotten away from him when he wasn't looking. "_Oh_. Yeah. Um. I could. What time?"

"4 to 9," Jess said, giving him a smile. "I need to run to Geometry. I'll see you later?"

"Sure," Spencer said. He hoped his face didn't look as confused as he felt.

He pulled out his phone and texted Ryan as he was walking to French, typing in _I think I have a date tonight. or something_ and pressing send.

_lol how did you pull that one off_ came back almost instantly.

Spencer hurriedly typed back _I have no idea_ and made it to French just as the bell rang.

*

By the time Spencer got home from school his head was pounding from too much caffeine and too little sleep. Band practice was cancelled for the week; the only thing Spencer wanted was some quality time with the couch in the den, or the sofa in the living room, or hell, even his floor. Ryan's air mattress was in his closet, and it was way more comfortable than the couch.

Except when Spencer got home he was greeted by the sight of Brendon shuffling very carefully from Spencer's room to the top of the landing and back again, one pillow or blanket in his hand each time, as though to take more might overtax him. Spencer watched until he was sure he wasn't just hallucinating, then stomped up the stairs. Loudly.

"Oh," Brendon said, dropping the pillow in his arms in shock. "I didn't, um. You aren't supposed to be home yet."

"What." Spencer said. He felt that summed up everything, really. He was tired and he had a headache and Brendon was apparently stealing the contents of his entire bed for some unknown purpose.

"I just thought," Brendon said, trying to look innocent and failing spectacularly. "You know. You might want your bed back. I thought I could just sleep downstairs."

"And spread your germs over my entire house? Uh, no," Spencer said. "You're sick. I'm not. You're sleeping in my bed until you're better."

"But I," Brendon said, biting his lip a little. "It doesn't weird you out?" he said, finally.

"_What_ doesn't weird me out," Spencer said, gathering up all the blankets and pillows in a fluffy heap.

"What we, ah. Talked about yesterday," Brendon muttered. "I mean, I'm sleeping in your _bed_."

Spencer tried to take several deep breaths before answering, so he wouldn't bite Brendon's head off.

"For _fuck's sake_," Spencer burst out. "There is nothing wrong with you because you want to sleep with other dudes. You are not contagious. You do not have the fucking _plague_. Well, I mean you _do_ have the plague, but I'm not going to suddenly wake up gay because you slept in my bed and even if I DID," Spencer said, pausing to take a breath, "That would OKAY because that is a PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE LIFESTYLE CHOICE." Spencer realized he was shouting. Brendon looked a little taken aback.

"Oh," Brendon said. "Um. Okay."

"I swear to god," Spencer muttered, brushing past Brendon and dragging the heap of blankets and pillows back to his room. "I'm going to fucking kill your parents, telling you there's something _wrong_ with you, fucking idiot son of a--" He continued to mutter angrily as he tried to arrange the blankets back into some semblance of a bed.

When he finally ran out of steam, Brendon was standing in the doorway, apparently unwilling to get too close.

"I'm not mad at _you_," Spencer said, still a little pissy. Seriously, he was going to murder the Uries next time he saw them. With his bare hands. Making Brendon think there was something wrong with him, what the fuck was that shit.

"I know," Brendon said, ducking his head and smiling a little. "You're a little intimidating when you're mad, Spence."

"Whatever," Spencer grumbled. "Now get back in the fucking bed."

Brendon crossed the room and Spencer leaned in a little, sort of wanting to give Brendon a hug or something, so he'd really know Spencer was just pissed off at his parents and not at him. He backed away quickly when he caught a whiff of Eau de Brendon.

"Dude," Spencer said, wrinkling his nose. "Dude, when was the last time you showered?"

"Uh," Brendon said, scrunching up his face in thought. "Wednesday?" he said hesitantly.

"_Dude_," Spencer said, horrified. "That's not okay. You are taking a shower right now." He grabbed Brendon's arm and steered him forcibly into the bathroom. Brendon went willingly, but he looked a little confused when Spencer came in with him and shut the door.

"Uh," Brendon said. "I can probably handle this on my own, you know."

Spencer leaned back against the door, arms crossed. He considered just ordering Brendon to strip and manhandling him into the shower, but that was probably kind of creepy. "I'm not coming in with you," Spencer pointed out. "I'm just. I thought I could just stay out here. In case you fall and die."

"Ooookay," Brendon said. "You do realize I have to get naked to get into the shower, right?"

"Duh," Spencer said. "I'm not dense."

"Right," Brendon said, after they spent a few moments just staring at each other. "I'm just going to--"

"Go for it," Spencer said. "Be my guest."

Brendon tossed his shirt off, then paused with his hands on the waistband of his sweatpants. "Uh," Brendon said. "I'm not like. I'm not wearing any boxers, dude."

"You say this like I've never seen your dick," Spencer said, but he turned around to face the wall anyway. He had no idea why Brendon was being so weird. Spencer had, in fact, seen Brendon's dick more times than he could possibly count. It was, you know. Nice. Normal sized. Generally acceptable. Spencer didn't get why Brendon was being all shy about it. Sure, he wasn't Ryan, but Brendon didn't have anything to be ashamed of.

He stayed with his back turned until he heard the sharp _shwing_ of the curtain being drawn back and then sat down on the closed toilet seat. It wasn't like he could see anything anyway, just a general Brendon-shaped outline behind the curtain. He zoned out for a few minutes, just kind of watching Brendon's silhouette wash his hair, then reach for one of those puffy loofah things and wash himself.

Everywhere.

Oh.

Spencer looked away quickly, his face flaming. It wasn't like Brendon was doing anything out of the ordinary. Spencer was just suddenly, acutely aware that Brendon was really, really naked behind that curtain.

"Hey," Brendon said, poking just his head out of the curtain. Spencer jerked in surprise, nearly falling off the toilet. "I seriously can't figure this out, is it up for hot? Or down? The knobs are all weird."

"Up," Spencer said, trying to very carefully edge his way towards the door. "I'm just going to. Uh. I'm really thirsty."

Brendon quirked an eyebrow at him. "Okay," he said, ducking back inside. Spencer stood downstairs in front of the kitchen sink and drank two glasses of warm water, one after the other, until his breathing evened out. His hands were a little shaky.

When Brendon came out Spencer was sitting on his bed, flipping through his Pre-Calc textbook, having given up on a nap. He looked up when Brendon entered, one towel around his waist and another around his head like a turban. "You need clothes?" Spencer said, and very carefully looked only at Brendon's face.

"Yeah," Brendon said. "I threw the gross ones in the hamper?" He turned around to shake out his hair and Spencer tried very hard not to stare at the elegant line of Brendon's back, the way the muscles flexed when he bent half-over. Spencer didn't know what was bothering him since Brendon looked exactly the same as he always did, albeit skinnier than normal. There was no reason Spencer should be staring at Brendon's (flat, pale) stomach, at the faint trail of dark hair that disappeared underneath the towel.

"We should probably burn them," Spencer said, after a beat. "But that works too." He handed Brendon some sleep pants and an old t-shirt, then turned to face the wall without prompting. His heart beat out a quick, staccato rhythm in his chest; it felt like Spencer couldn't get enough air.

When he turned back around Brendon was sitting cross-legged on Spencer's bed. His hair was a mess and he was wearing his dorky red glasses and Spencer's old Green Day shirt. "Mario Kart?" Brendon said, hopefully, giving the tiny TV perched on Spencer's dresser a meaningful look.

"Homework," Spencer said ruefully.

"Oh," Brendon said. "That's cool. I can um. I'll just watch TV?"

Spencer looked at his textbook, then looked back at Brendon. Brendon's t-shirt had slipped a little, exposing a hint of collarbone and shoulder at the neck where the collar was all stretched out. Brendon's skin looked really smooth.

"Best out of three," Spencer said, shaking his head slightly to clear it. "I'm Bowser."

*

Spencer didn't remember Jess's invitation until he was falling asleep on Ryan's air mattress, listening to Brendon's wheezy, rhythmic breaths.

_Crap_, Spencer thought hazily, and then fell asleep.

*

Wednesdays in Band were ensemble practice, so there was nothing Spencer could do but take his place behind the snare drum and try to silently telegraph his complete and utter remorse over accidentally standing Jess up not once, but twice. Spencer was pretty sure he had blown his chance; he concentrated on de Meji's _Lord of the Rings symphony No.1_ and tried not to think about how he was definitely going to die a virgin.

So when Jess sat down next to him at lunchtime, Spencer nearly choked on his sandwich.

"Hey," Spencer mumbled, trying frantically to swallow. He hoped he didn't look as surprised as he felt.

"Listen," Jess said. "If you're not interested, you can just tell me."

"No," Spencer said, wincing. "No, seriously, that's not it, I mean--" Spencer looked around, but everyone else at the table was absorbed in their own conversation, mostly about how they hated the de Meji piece. Spencer lowered his voice anyway. "Look, it's just, I wasn't kidding about Brendon. He got _really_ sick and he's like--his home life isn't great right now, you know? He needed someone to take care of him."

"Oh," Jess said, frowning a little. "So he's like. You're staying...at his parents?"

"No, he's staying at my house," Spencer said. "Seriously, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to stand you up, I just--I can't just _leave_ him. He kind of needs me right now."

"I don't get it," Jess said. "Where are his parents? Shouldn't they be the ones taking care of him?"

Spencer bit his lip. He didn't want to go around spilling Brendon's secrets to his coworkers, but it didn't look like he had much of a choice, not if he didn't want Jess to hate him. "They kicked him out," Spencer said softly. "You can't tell anyone I told you, seriously. He doesn't want anyone to know."

"Shit," Jess said sympathetically. "That's awful. So he's staying with you?"

"I'm pretty sure he's asleep in my bed right now," Spencer said.

Oh," Jess said, her eyes widening. "Oh, crap, I didn't. I'm so sorry," she said, wincing. "Oh god, you must think I'm such an idiot. I had no idea, I mean, I thought _maybe_\--but Brendon never said anything."

"I don't think you're an idiot," Spencer said, feeling a little out of his depth. "But ah. What are you talking about?"

Jess' expression softened a little, something like concern in her delicate features. "It must be hard for you guys, huh? Is that why he got kicked out?"

"Sure," Spencer said. "What are we talking about again?"

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Jess said, giving him a significant look. "Dude, it's okay. You don't need to play dumb."

"Right," Spencer said, bewildered.

"So like," Jess said, digging into her nachos. "How long? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

"How long have...Brendon and I been friends?" Spencer said, still trying to catch up to the conversation. "Uh, a few years? Or like. A year, I guess."

"No, how long have you and Brendon been _friends_," Jess said, raising an eyebrow.

"OH," Spencer said. Jess thought that he and Brendon were--oh. "I, uh," Spencer said weakly. "It's not really like that."

"I don't know, it seems pretty serious from here," Jess said. "What with the taking-care-of-him-while-sick and all."

"Yeah," Spencer said, still a little shell-shocked. He took a large gulp of his soda. "Kinda. In a way. Listen, I think you might have the wrong idea about--"

"Crap," Jess said, standing up. "I need to run, I promised Maia I'd meet her in the library when I was done eating, we're going to need all of 5th period to get this project done. Tell Brendon I said hey," she said, smiling when Spencer just nodded numbly.

"Great, I will" Spencer said. _WHAT_, he wanted to yell out after her, _WHAT WHAT WHAT?_

"That was weird," Justin-from-band-class said, giving Spencer a thoughtful look across the table. "What was she talking about? Are you guys like, a thing now?"

"No. I have no idea," Spencer mumbled, and spent the rest of lunch ignoring everyone at the table.

*

Spencer wanted to pay attention in French and Chemistry and Gym, he really did.

He conjugated verbs and watched a movie about the horrible things that happened to high school students who didn't use proper safety precautions in the Chemistry labs (namely, death, death, dismemberment, blindness, death) and played kickball and the entire time he thought about how Jess seemed to think he was dating Brendon. Or, no, she seemed to think he and Brendon had been _hooking up_ and were just now starting to date, which was even weirder. Spencer wanted to point out that he really wasn't the kind of guy to do that sort of thing, that he was basically a secret loser who had kissed a total of one person in his life that wasn't his mom (Amanda Singleton, 10th grade, band camp) but even Spencer realized that was less important than the fact that she seemed to think Spencer was _gay_.

Spencer wondered if everyone thought he and Brendon were dating. He wondered about the way Brendon was always so tactile with him, the effortless way Brendon sort of fell into Spencer's personal space like he belonged there. He wondered if it was weird that Brendon was sleeping in his bed, if maybe Jess had just misheard him and assumed they were sleeping _together_ in Spencer's bed, like Spencer used to do with Ryan. It got to the point that he wasn't even paying attention to what was going on in the game, and thus was totally blindsided when a particularly impressive kick by Taylor Murphy caught Spencer squarely in the balls.

"_Motherfucker_," Spencer swore, when he felt himself capable of forming words again.

"Happens to the best of us," Mr. Davies said, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. The impact jarred his back and by extension Spencer's sore balls, and he squeaked in pain. "You'll be alright," Mr. Davies said. "Just keep your eye on the ball next time. And watch that language."

"Sure," Spencer said, instead of what he wanted to say, which was "Fuck you, douchebag." Spencer didn't need his gym teacher's sympathy, he needed a fucking ice pack.

Moving hurt, and walking hurt, and getting changed after gym hurt, so that by the time Spencer made it gingerly out to the sidewalk in front of the school, he'd definitely missed his bus. He pulled out his phone and called Ryan.

"Come pick me up," Spencer said, when Ryan answered. "I got hit in the balls and I missed the bus."

Ryan was silent for a moment or two.

"Ryan," Spencer said, warningly. He was in a bad mood and he didn't have time for this shit. "If you are seriously not getting on the highway and driving over here right this minute--"

"You'll punch me in the balls?" Ryan said, snickering.

"Yes," Spencer said. "And then you can share my pain. We'll bond."

"I'm good, thanks," Ryan said. "I like my balls the way they are."

"But you're coming," Spencer said, not making it a question.

"Yeah, yeah," Ryan said. "Give me like twenty, traffic sucks. Think your balls can hold out that long?"

Spencer hung up on him, then stared moodily out at the parking lot. He didn't know what to say to Jess, when he saw her. He didn't know what he would say to Ryan, when he asked him about his date and made fun of Spencer for being a loser. Spencer closed his eyes and tried to think about nothing at all, but he just kept coming back to the way Brendon had looked when Spencer got up in the middle of the night to piss, curled up in a tiny ball in his bed, the way his chest rose and fell and how sometimes he smiled a little in his sleep.

It wouldn't be so bad, Spencer thought idly, staring at the tiny crumbles of asphalt scattered across the newly-paved parking lot. Brendon would probably be a lot of fun to date, if Spencer was into that kind of thing.

"Crap," Spencer said, opening in his eyes in shock. He was pretty sure he was supposed to be feeling grossed out, but instead he just felt a little strange, lightheaded and filled with a sort of nameless longing that he couldn't identify right away. He blinked, then closed his eyes again. The sun was bright and prickling on the backs of his eyelids and Spencer thought about Brendon's habit of bouncing on his toes when he was nervous and the way he sort of looked at Spencer through his eyelashes sometimes. He thought about the warm, heavy feeling in his stomach when Brendon was half-naked, or sometimes not even naked at all.

Spencer thought about how he couldn't seem to make himself care that he'd missed a date with Jess to hang out with him, about how Brendon was currently sniffly and red-nosed and hacking up a lung but still funnier and way cooler than anyone at school. Spencer thought about how sometimes he got weird urges that didn't make sense, like wanting to smooth down Brendon's hair when it stuck up in the back, or about how sometimes when they were walking side by side and Brendon was laughing at something he'd said, Spencer sort of wanted to reach over and hold Brendon's hand, just to see if he could feel the way Brendon's body seemed to shake with delight.

"Crap," Spencer said again, just as Ryan pulled up and honked. He crossed the parking lot on shaky legs and sort of fell gracelessly into Ryan's front seat, staring out through the windshield at the astroturf on the soccer field.

"So how are your balls," Ryan drawled, by way of a hello. "Think you can still have kids?"

"Hah," Spencer said weakly. Kids. Spencer wasn't going to have kids, unless he adopted them. Spencer wasn't even sure if he liked girls. He felt nauseous.

"So like," Ryan said, completely missing Spencer's existential crisis, "Did you want to go do something? Tarah's got swimming, so. We can chill for a bit."

"Practice," Spencer said firmly. "Let's go to the practice space, I want to work on some stuff."

"Without everyone else?" Ryan said. "What can we do with just guitar and drums?"

"I don't care," Spencer said. He needed something familiar right now or he was going to freak out, but he didn't know how to explain that to Ryan. "I just want to practice, we can jam for a bit. Brendon's kind of driving me crazy." It wasn't really a lie.

"Okay," Ryan said, shrugging and nearly hitting a pedestrian as they left the parking lot. "You want tacos first? I want tacos."

"I always want tacos," Spencer said, even though he wasn't sure he could eat. He needed to keep Ryan distracted until they got to the practice space, though, just in case Ryan decided to get inquisitive about why Spencer's hands were shaking.

"Point," Ryan conceded. "Tacos it is."

*

Spencer played until he couldn't feel his hands or his arms, until everything sort of narrowed down to Ryan's voice, Ryan's guitar. They did covers, mostly, with Ryan attempting to hit the notes and usually failing, but it didn't matter because it was exactly what Spencer needed to feel normal. Most of the time Spencer sang along, not even caring if he was out of key.

They finally took a breather after they'd finished most of _Dookie_ and _Enema of the State_. Spencer's arms ached a little, and he followed Ryan outside when Ryan inclined his head towards the door and pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket.

"Your dads?" Spencer said, then leaned up against the concrete wall when Ryan nodded. "That shit will kill you," Spencer said mildly. Ryan smoked occasionally. They'd had one big blowup about it, maybe a year ago, but Spencer was smart enough since then to pick his battles.

"Yup," Ryan said. "Want one?"

"No," Spencer said. "Actually. Actually yes, fuck it, give me one." It tasted terrible. Spencer made a dubious face at Ryan, who was leaning up against the wall next to him and smoking very slowly. "These are disgusting," Spencer said.

Ryan shrugged. "It's not so bad," he said. "Once in a while."

"Uh-huh," Spencer said. He crossed his arms and stared directly into the setting sun. His stomach felt better, but every time he thought about opening his mouth and maybe saying something to Ryan, that tight feeling in his chest returned, the tingling in his hands that meant he wasn't breathing in enough air. It felt weird to keep a secret from Ryan, to hold something close to his chest instead of just blurting it out. Spencer thought about Brendon for a moment and abruptly felt guilty; at least Spencer had someone he could tell, someone that he knew wouldn't freak out or disown him. Spencer was positive Ryan wouldn't care in the least--or well, not that he wouldn't care, he wasn't totally heartless--but he knew Ryan wasn't the kind of guy to let it change their friendship.

Besides, Ryan had already tested those waters himself, before deciding he was definitely into girls. He didn't have any room to throw stones. Spencer wondered idly how that hadn't tripped his wires at the time, hadn't made him go _oh, huh, maybe_, but he remembered just sort of rolling his eyes and consigning it to the list of Stuff Ryan Did that Spencer Didn't, like getting to third base and going out on dates and talking to people he didn't know online.

It still felt weird though, like telling Ryan would make it real, even though Spencer knew deep down it was about as real as shit could get. It had felt like something was slotting into place, Spencer's world reorienting around him into something strange and different but also deeply familiar. And it wasn't just Brendon; the more Spencer thought about it, the more he could remember things that didn't quite make sense at the time, like how he used to sort of stare at this guy Daniel in 7th grade because he just had such a nice smile. It always made Spencer feel sort of warm and content inside, but he'd figured that happened to everyone, until he slowly realized it didn't. Or how one time in 9th grade he'd told Ryan he had really nice hands, because Ryan did, and Ryan had just sort of quirked an eyebrow at him and said, "Okay," like he was trying not to laugh. It wasn't even a sexual thing, because it was Ryan, but Spencer was pretty sure he'd spent way more time noticing things like that than he probably should have.

"Hey," Ryan said, poking Spencer in the shoulder and startling him out of his reverie. "You sick or something?"

"What?" Spencer said. He looked up, and Ryan was stubbing the butt of his cigarette against the concrete, kicking it away with the toe of his sneakers so it landed under the dumpster.

"You're all weird," Ryan said. "Quiet."

"Yeah, I don't feel so hot," Spencer said, taking the easy out and immediately feeling guilty about it. He couldn't tell Ryan, though. Not just yet.

"Oh, shit," Ryan said, looking faintly alarmed. It was more expression than Spencer had seen on him in a while. "Did Brendon give you his death flu?"

"What? Oh, no, not like that," Spencer said haltingly. "I think it was something I ate."

"Sucks," Ryan said. "I like. We sort of have to go anyway, though. I told Dad I'd be home for dinner."

"You can eat with us," Spencer said immediately. He kind of didn't really want to deal with Brendon on his own just yet; the thought of just the two of them in his room, alone, was sort of terrifying, and not in the good way.

"It's his day off tomorrow," Ryan said, grimacing. "I kind of can't." He looked a little hollow for a moment, and Spencer wondered if he'd needed this afternoon just as much as Spencer had. Sometimes Ryan's days off with his dad were okay; sometimes they weren't. It was hard to tell from Ryan's expression what the forecast for this particular day off was, even for Spencer, who was so used to reading Ryan it was almost second nature.

They cleaned up the practice space with a minimum of conversation, and then Ryan put on something loud and raucous for the ride back, effectively ruling out any attempts at talking. Spencer was grateful. He didn't know what to say; their five-minute conversation seemed to have exhausted his ability to speak, leaving him with nothing but a blank space in his head, a sort of buzzy static where his brain should have been. He didn't want to face Brendon, but he couldn't think of a way out of it that didn't involve taking the car, and he felt like an ass for even considering leaving Brendon all alone at his house.

Brendon was better but not entirely so; he still got tired easily and coughed a lot, although not the frame-wracking coughs that had had Spencer and the doctors so worried. Spencer also suspected that as soon as they all left for the day Brendon ignored the bed-rest mandate and did whatever he wanted, which probably wasn't doing him any favors. Either way, Brendon had been increasingly excited to see Spencer when he got home, and the thought of leaving Brendon to mope in his room while Spencer went out sort of made Spencer's chest hurt.

The worst part was that Brendon wouldn't complain; he'd plaster on a fake smile and tell Spencer to have fun and make some crack about Spencer's wild and crazy social life. Spencer could be a jerk, but he wasn't that much of a jerk.

"So," Ryan said, eventually, and Spencer looked up and realized they were just sort of idling in his driveway.

"Oh, uh, yeah," Spencer said, fumbling with his seatbelt. "Right." He tugged his backpack out from under the front seat, closing the car door with a slam. Ryan leaned over from the driver's side and peered at him through the open window for a moment.

"If you die on me, I'm kicking your ass," Ryan said eventually. "So like. Don't do that."

"Yeah, okay," Spencer said, shouldering his bag to go inside. When he walked in the door he was greeted to the sight of his entire family--plus Brendon--sitting at the dining room table eating dinner. The conversation came to a screeching halt.

"Look who decided to join us," Spencer's dad said, raising an eyebrow. "Did you get lost?"

"Shit," Spencer said automatically, then winced. "I mean. Uh. Darn."

Ginger reached out and kicked out his empty chair with her foot. "Sit, eat," she said, giving Spencer a long-suffering look. "So where was the fire?"

"Um, the practice space, with Ryan," Spencer said, then immediately regretted it. He was trying not to look directly at Brendon, but he could tell even out of the corner of his eye that Brendon was frowning.

"Bad day?" Ginger said. That was generally how she referred to things in front of the twins; sometimes, she'd explained, Ryan just had "bad days," and that was why he got to sleep over on school nights when Kendra and Lisa and Marjorie couldn't.

"Something like that," Spencer said, taking a large spoonful of mashed potatoes. He didn't think it was that much of an exaggeration, even if it had mostly been his "bad day" and not Ryan's.

"I would tell you to call next time," Ginger said. "But you knew that."

"Yeah," Spencer said, ducking his head. He just wanted to finish eating and run out of the room. Brendon was sitting next to him and he kept brushing Spencer's elbow with his; Spencer tried not to jerk every time Brendon touched him, but he wasn't very successful.

Brendon attempted to help with the dishes after dinner, and was rewarded with identical withering glares from both Ginger and Spencer.

"Wow," Brendon said, coughing a little. "So that look definitely runs in the family."

"Brendon," Ginger said, sighing. "I know you're feeling better, but you're not even supposed to be out of bed right now. Do us both a favor and go do something horizontal for a while."

Spencer dropped a dish with a clatter; it bounced, but didn't crack.

"My hands slipped," Spencer told the kitchen at large, swallowing nervously. "They're slippery. With soap."

"A for effort, I guess," Ginger said, sighing and taking a glass out of Spencer's hand. "Go do some homework or something. I like my glassware the way it is."

"Intact?" Brendon guessed, still hovering in the doorway.

"Exactly," Ginger said. "Now please leave my kitchen."

"Fine," Spencer said, grabbing his backpack from the entryway. "When I'm in therapy--"

"I know, you'll tell them all about your childhood dishwashing trauma," Ginger said. "Now scram."

"Adolescent trauma," Spencer called back, over his shoulder. Brendon snickered behind him on the stairs. "What?" Spencer said, forgetting to be awkward for a moment. "I'm totally not a child."

"Says you," Brendon said. He waited until they were safely in Spencer's bathroom before sitting down on the edge of Spencer's bed and asking, "So what were you guys actually doing?"

"Um," Spencer said. "Practicing?"

"Oh," Brendon said, looking disappointed. "I thought it was something exciting. Was Brent there?" Brendon lifted his chin up a little, as if to say _It's okay if he was. I'm tough. It's totally cool if you guys practice without me._

"No, we wouldn't do that," Spencer said. "It was just. Ryan-stuff. You know."

"Yeah," Brendon said, crossing the room to turn on the TV and then sitting back down on the bed.

"So!" Spencer said, suddenly remembering he was alone in his room. With Brendon. "I'm just going to. Do my homework now."

"Sure," Brendon said, moving over on the bed.

"On the floor," Spencer said quickly. "I need, uh. Room to spread out."

"Okay," Brendon said, a little more hesitantly this time. "Whatever floats your boat, I guess." Spencer sat down on the floor next to his bed, as far away from Brendon as possible. He made sure to spread out his schoolbooks and things, so it wouldn't look like he was lying.

They sat in silence for about an hour, while Spencer slowly got more and more absorbed in what he was working on. By the end he was concentrating so hard he forgot to keep sneaking looks at Brendon out of the corner of his eye, so it was a surprise when Brendon suddenly got up and turned off the TV.

"Okay, what gives," Brendon said, standing in front of Spencer. "You're being all weird, what's up."

"Nothing!" Spencer squeaked out, still not looking Brendon full in the face. "Nothing is weird. Everything is totally fine."

"The fuck it is," Brendon said. "You won't even look at me, seriously, what's wrong?"

"I just," Spencer said. "I had kind of a weird day. That's all." He didn't expect Brendon to sort of deflate, his shoulders drooping.

"This is all my fault," Brendon said softly, slumping back down on the bed. He scrubbed his hands through his hair. "I"m sorry, I should have known. I can just--I'm feeling okay now. I'll leave in the morning."

"It's really not," Spencer said sadly. He didn't know what to say to make Brendon understand. "Brendon--"

"Don't lie. You can't even _look_ at me," Brendon said again. "I knew you would get weird about this, I don't know why I thought--"

"No," Spencer said quietly. "Brendon, I swear to god it's not--"

"Then what?" Brendon said fiercely.

Spencer swallowed and decided to go with the first thing that came to mind. _He lied to you first_, a little voice in his mind said. _You can explain later. He'll understand._

"It's just--there's someone," Spencer said haltingly. "At school. It's just--I don't know. It's weird." He didn't think he imagined the way Brendon's face fell, but when he looked up, Brendon was giving him a sympathetic look and squeezing his shoulder.

"Crushes suck," Brendon said bluntly, and Spencer thought _oh, you don't even know._

Brendon was still talking, staring down at his feet. "She's an idiot if she doesn't like you, man. You're awesome. She doesn't know what she's missing."

"Yeah," Spencer said weakly, lying for everything he was worth. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure she doesn't like me back. Or like. I don't really know how to tell, I guess."

"Um," Brendon said, scrunching up his nose a little. "Is she. Do you guys have class together?"

"Band," Spencer said. "And sometimes we eat lunch together and stuff."

"I don't know, dude," Brendon said, shrugging a little and looking downtrodden. "I would tell you to just man up and tell her but, ah, I've never actually had the balls to do that myself." Spencer nodded. A tiny part of him was maliciously glad Brendon was still single, even as the rest of him sort of wanted to give Brendon a hug; it would have been worse, somehow, watching Brendon with another guy. It would have been way worse, knowing it wasn't that Brendon didn't like dudes, it was that he didn't like _Spencer_.

"You're probably better off asking Ryan, he's the one rolling in girls," Brendon said eventually.

Spencer stared up at him for a moment, shell-shocked, trying to judge if he was kidding or not. The moment stretched out until Brendon finally cracked, letting loose a small snicker. Spencer clenched his jaw, trying to keep a straight face.

"You think," Spencer said, and then he lost it, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter and not a little bit of mild hysteria. "You think I should ask _Ryan_ for girl advice?"

"I don't know," Brendon said, giggling, "I mean, he gets laid a lot, right? Or at least. He tries to get laid a lot."

"Brendon," Spencer said, ignoring the way his voice went all high and funny, "Brendon, he dates _crazy people_. Melanie threatened to cut him when he broke up with her. With a _knife_."

"I _know_," Brendon said, sobering a little. "I know, I just. Spencer, you know I don't know shit about girls."

"You're related to one," Spencer pointed out.

"So are you," Brendon said.

"Ugh, fuck," Spencer said. "Don't ever say that again, seriously."

"I don't get how that's worse than what you said," Brendon said. "It's not like I want to think about Kara like that."

"Your sister is _married_. My sisters are in _middle school_," Spencer said, horrified. "They aren't girls. They're like. Kids. They don't count."

"Eventually they will," Brendon said maliciously. "Eventually you're totally going to have to be kicking some lame high-school kid's ass because he wants to fuck your sisters."

"Oh my god, shut up, we're not having this conversation," Spencer said. "Seriously, how did this turn into a conversation about my sisters, what the fuck."

"You're the one who brought it up," Brendon said.

"Yeah," Spencer said. He shuffled his notes around awkwardly, clearing his throat when it looked like Brendon wasn't going to say anything further. Part of him wanted to just spill everything out, just fucking tell Brendon and get it over with, but Spencer wasn't quite that brave. He wasn't quite ready to face that particular rejection just yet, especially when Brendon was effectively trapped in Spencer's house..

"So anyway," Spencer said, when the moment had stretched out too long and was bordering on really awkward. "I'm kind of tired. You think we could maybe just--"

"Yes," Brendon said immediately, his voice a little strained. "I'm exhausted. Totally ready for bed. We should probably just go to sleep."

"Awesome. We should just. Do that then," Spencer said, and practically ran out of the room to go brush his teeth.

*

School the next day was a welcome respite; Spencer got up as quietly as he could, and pretended not to notice when Brendon sleepily opened one eye and smiled at him before dozing off again. In a perfect world, Spencer thought, he wouldn't have to go to school, and instead Spencer could just put his pajamas back on and shove Brendon over in his bed, could curl up into Brendon's sleepy warmth under the covers.

Then again, in a perfect world, Spencer would also be brave enough to tell Brendon he liked him. In a perfect world, Brendon would like him back and Spencer's stomach wouldn't twist up in knots every time he thought about it. Spencer rolled his eyes at himself and went downstairs to fill up his travel mug with coffee before the bus came.

Ryan texted him at noon with a message that just said _coming over later_; Spencer wasn't surprised in the slightest. He fired back a quick _okay_ and attempted to focus on his soggy tater tots, trying to psych himself up. Some days Spencer really wished he could just eat through osmosis; he was starving, but they were seriously disgusting. It was a quandary.

When he finally got home, Ryan and Brendon were sitting on the couch in the den, arguing over the remote control. "You're sick," Ryan was saying. "I get to choose what we watch."

"That's not how it works," Brendon pointed out. "Like, that's really not how it works. I'm supposed to be getting spoiled, here."

"Decisions are hard," Ryan said. "You need to rest your brain and shit. I'm doing you a favor." He tugged mightily and somehow managed to end up with the remote. Brendon was trying to climb up the side of the couch to get at it, but he kept slipping on the pillows. Spencer watched from the doorway until he was positive someone was going to get kneed in the crotch if he didn't step in and break it up.

"Or it's my house and I get to decide," he said mildly, dropping his backpack on the floor. "Stop trying to break my furniture."

"I still have the remote," Ryan fired back, unimpressed. "You're not getting it back, suck it."

"Yes, you're terrifying," Spencer said flatly. "Also, why is Brendon even out of bed?"

"I dunno," Ryan said, shrugging. "He was dressed and shit when I came over."

"I'm right here." Brendon pointed out, sitting back on his heels. "And I was bored."

Spencer opened his mouth to give Brendon a lecture on How Not to Get Sick Again Dumbass (Chapter 1: Do What Spencer Tells You), and then shut it when he actually looked at Brendon. Somehow in the past five days he'd managed to forget what Brendon actually looked like in clothing that wasn't sweatpants, or maybe he'd just never noticed in the first place.

"Where did you get clothing?" Spencer said, after an awkward moment where he tried, and failed, to stop staring at Brendon's ass. "I thought you didn't bring anything."

"Your mom, she had to, um, run some errands and stuff," Brendon said, looking vaguely guilty. "I sort of decided to come along and then she said we could stop by my place if I needed anything, so. Yeah."

"Oh," Spencer said dumbly. He tried to summon up the energy to care that his mom was totally endangering Brendon's health behind his back, but he got distracted staring at the narrow band of skin between Brendon's jeans and his t-shirt. Spencer was pretty sure Brendon's hips would fit perfectly in his hands and wow, yeah, that was not a train of thought he needed to follow in public.

Ryan snorted and got up from the couch, taking the remote with him.

"What?" Spencer and Brendon both said, at the same time.

"Nothing," Ryan said, looking aggressively innocent. "I'm getting a soda."

"You okay?" Brendon said after Ryan left, quirking an eyebrow slightly at where Spencer was still just kind of standing next to back of the sofa.

"You look different," Spencer blurted out. "In clothes. I forgot." _You look different in clothes_, Spencer thought grimly, with a sort of distant awe that he could fail so badly at normal human conversation. Thank god Ryan wasn't in the room.__

"Oh, yeah, I was just--all gross and stuff," Brendon said.

"I didn't think you looked gross," Spencer said. "You're. You're fine."

"Well, yeah, now I am," Brendon said, rolling his eyes behind his glasses. "You didn't see me before I showered. It was epic."

"No, before," Spencer said, but he was interrupted by Ryan thumping a can of Coke into his midsection. Spencer wanted to remind Brendon that hello, Spencer'd been here this whole time and he'd seen Brendon all puffy and splotchy and miserable and Spencer really, really didn't care. The problem was that there was no way to tell Brendon that without sounding like a) he liked Brendon or b) like a stalker. Or possibly both. Telling Brendon he looked pretty even when he slept was not an option.

"We're watching _The Dreamers_," Ryan said, sticking the remote in his front pocket and sprawling back out over the couch.

"What the fuck, it's my house," Spencer said. "I want to watch TV."

"It's already in the DVD player," Ryan said, smirking. "C'mon, I got the NC-17 rated version."

Brendon's eyes widened a little. "What's it about?" he said. "Uh. Besides sex."

"France," Ryan said. "And sex. Eva Green's fucking hot, dude."

"Maybe we should just--" _not watch this movie_, Spencer thought. He didn't really want to sit next to Brendon for the next two hours and watch artsy soft-core porn. In fact, Spencer could think of exactly nothing he wanted to do less, except maybe being skinned alive or eaten by wild dogs or something, but then Ryan was tugging him down on the couch, making affronted noises until Spencer settled in between him and Brendon. Ryan was sprawled over half the couch, one foot dangling carelessly over Spencer's lap; in contrast, Brendon was squished into a corner of the couch, head pillowed on the overstuffed arm and body curved towards the TV.

"Your feet smell like ass," Spencer said, pushing Ryan's socked foot off his thigh and trying to get comfortable.

"Shut up, it's starting." Ryan said. "No one's allowed to talk while she's naked."

"Dude, that's the Eiffel Tower," Brendon said. "No one's naked yet."

"Just wait," Ryan said, popping open his soda with one hand.

Spencer tried his best to watch the movie. He mostly succeeded. It was hard, because Ryan had this habit of extending all of his limbs like a stealthy, parasitic vine, slowing but surely taking over a full three-fourths of the couch. Spencer was slowly pushed closer and closer to Brendon, until Brendon was basically tucked into Spencer's side. Normally Spencer would have just slung an arm around Brendon and let him burrow in, because Brendon liked to snuggle and Spencer didn't mind, as long as Brendon had remembered to shower and wasn't all twitchy from too much caffeine. Now, Spencer didn't know what to do; he settled for slinging an arm across the top of the couch, but it was an uncomfortable angle, pulling his shoulder at an awkward height. Brendon kept shifting backwards, pulling the couch cushion down bit by bit and Spencer wanted to just put a hand on his knee, tell him to chill the fuck out, but even that sort of casual touch seemed too monumental to comprehend. He settled for flicking the back of Brendon's head.

"Ow," Brendon whispered, turning his head to look at Spencer after the third or fourth flick. "What was that for?"

"Sit _still_," Spencer said.

"_Naked_," Ryan hissed at them, glaring at Spencer from the other end of the couch. "Spence, shut the fuck up." Spencer threw a decorative pillow at his head. When he turned back to Brendon, he was already watching the screen, eyes a little wide in the way that meant he was trying to play it cool. Spencer had to admit there was a lot of fucking going on onscreen, and he knew Brendon probably had never watched anything like _this_, even if he'd admitted to downloading porn.

There was also, incidentally, a lot of dick.

Brendon shifted again, biting the inside of his cheek a little, and Spencer bit back a tiny groan. Seriously, what was his life. Fucking Ryan, taking up the entire couch and making it so Spencer had to sit pressed thigh-to-thigh against Brendon, had to listen to his breathing speed up ever-so-slightly while he tried not to look like he was paying too much attention to the screen. Spencer considered a few options to save himself from what was soon to be a horrifically embarrassing situation, from just getting up and turning the movie off to faking sick to going downstairs to the basement and tripping the breaker, but in the end Brendon beat him to it. Spencer raised an eyebrow inquisitively when Brendon made an abortive movement and then slowly got up, a little too stiff to be natural.

"Bathroom," Brendon said softly, not meeting Spencer's eyes. "I gotta piss."

Spencer nodded, and turned back to the TV, staring firmly at Eva Green's naked torso. It was, like. A nice torso. If you were into that sort of thing.

Brendon came back a few minutes later; Spencer pretended not to notice that his cheeks were a little pink, the way he smelled faintly of sweat and underneath that, a hint of something else, something a little sharper. Spencer swallowed compulsively, trying to just blank his mind out, not think about anything at all. Brendon paused for a moment before sitting down, giving Spencer an unreadable look before sitting closer than before, snuggling a little bit into Spencer's side. Spencer let his arm fall down a little bit, so it was around Brendon's shoulders. He angled his body away and hoped Brendon couldn't feel how fast his heart was beating. Spencer didn't know what he was doing. He felt like a complete creep, but it wasn't enough to get him to move. He felt the way Brendon gradually relaxed, shifting closer ever so slightly until the side of his glasses was digging into Spencer's collarbone and Spencer closed his eyes and tried to think about the grossest shit he could think of, dead puppies and his grandmother naked and that one time he and Ryan had shoved a tomato way back in the vegetable drawer at Ryan's house and they'd only found it three weeks later.

He made it twenty minutes, until Brendon sort of turned his head a little, breathing warm and soft right into the crook of Spencer's neck. Spencer stood up, ignoring Brendon's noise of protest. "Bathroom," Spencer said, walking as quickly as he could with his dick practically burning a hole through his boxers. He turned left to use the downstairs bathroom and then thought better of it, sneaking upstairs to use the one next to his room. He just had to piss, Spencer told himself. He was just going to go piss and then go back downstairs and watch the damn movie and then he was never speaking to Ryan ever again.

His resolve lasted until he was standing just inside the bathroom door, dick already in hand. It was just--he could fucking _smell_ Brendon in here, the sharp, musky smell of come, and of _course_ he had to fucking use Spencer's bathroom to go jerk off in, of course he did.

Spencer locked the door and got to it, spitting on his hand to ease the friction, closing his eyes so he didn't have to see himself in the mirror. It didn't take long.

*

"Lasagna?" Spencer said hopefully, when he walked into the kitchen on Friday afternoon.

"No," Ginger said absently, stirring something in a large stainless steel pot. "Just because I said we're having dinner doesn't mean it's always lasagna. I'm not your pasta slave."

"I wish," Spencer said. Behind him, Brendon snorted. "So what are we--?"

"Beef stew," Ginger said. "Minestrone for Brendon."

"Oh," Brendon said, looking surprised. "You didn't really have to, I mean, I could just--"

"I know I didn't have to," Ginger said. "Brendon, can you get the glasses out while Spencer sets the table? Top right cupboard, on the left--yes, there. Thank you."

"I can do it," Spencer said, looking up and frowning. "Brendon, you're still sick."

"I'm really not," Brendon said.

"He's probably not," Ginger said. "Also, he's probably less likely to drop my glasses than you are." Spencer sighed internally. That totally hadn't been his fault. His mom had told Brendon to go do something horizontal, for fuck's sake. What was Spencer supposed to think?

Spencer's dad came in with the twins just as Spencer was haphazardly strewing the last pieces of silverware somewhere in the vicinity of each place setting. "Brendon!" Jackie called out excitedly. "You're still here! You want to watch _Mulan_ with us later?"

"Yeah, still here," Brendon said, smiling a little awkwardly and darting a glance at Spencer. "And maybe, it's up to Spencer."

"About that," Ginger said, setting the pot full of stew down carefully on the trivet in the middle of the table. "Brendon, you go to Arbor View with Brent, right?"

"Yes?" Brendon said cautiously, one hand already reaching towards the smaller pot filled with minestrone off to the side.

"And you don't have a car," Ginger said, batting Crystal's hand away from the bread rolls. "Crystal, what did we say about waiting until everyone is seated?"

"I'm hungry," Crystal said. "Brendon did it first."

"Brendon's our guest," Ginger said, pretending not to notice Brendon's guilty expression and the way he carefully withdrew his hand from the soup ladle. "You can wait three minutes until your father sits down."

"_Spencer_," Brendon hissed, sotto-voice. "You never told me we were supposed to wait."

Spencer shrugged. "Because I usually don't," he said, reaching across the table and snagging a bread roll. "Mom!" Jackie and Crystal both protested, in identical injured tones.

"I saw," Ginger said, whacking the back of Spencer's head lightly with the potholder. "Spencer, stop being a bad influence. Anyway. Brendon. No car, right?"

"No car," Brendon said, looking slightly uneasy. Spencer knew that at one point Brendon's family had discussed the possibility of Brendon owning the mini-van; now, Spencer suspected it was probably a moot point.

"But Arbor View is right near Eastland Heights," Ginger said. "So if you didn't mind leaving a little early, Jeff could drop you off in the mornings, and then you could take the bus back in the afternoon."

"I--" Brendon said, frowning.

"We think you should stay another week," Spencer's dad said, filling up his glass with water from the refrigerator his way through the kitchen. "Just a little longer. I know you're feeling better, but you need to get your strength back up. You were pretty sick there for a while."

"No," Brendon said quickly. "No, thank you, I mean, _seriously_, thank you, but you've like. You've all done. I couldn't do that."

Spencer concentrated very firmly on his meal and pretended to himself it didn't matter if Brendon stayed for an extra week. Spencer wasn't even sure what he wanted; on the one hand, if Brendon went back to his apartment, Spencer would finally get some breathing room in which to be properly miserable about his stupid crush. But Spencer didn't really want Brendon to leave, as lame as that was, and also, he'd seen the state of Brendon's apartment. If it was up to Spencer, he would have just taken away Brendon's keys rather than allow him to go back there, figured out a way for him to move into Spencer's basement or Brent's family's spare room, or something.

It was probably a good thing it wasn't up to Spencer.

He tuned back into the conversation just in time to hear his mom attempting to subtly guilt Brendon into staying. "It's just easier this way," Ginger was saying. "Because otherwise I'd have to drive across town to bring you meals."

"No," Brendon said, looking horrified. "No, you really wouldn't have to do that. Because um. I'm fine, really. I have food."

"Yeah, _ramen_," Spencer muttered under his breath. "That totally doesn't count."

"Shut up," Brendon hissed, kicking him under the table. "You're not helping."

"Mmm," Ginger said, in the way that meant she entirely disagreed with you, but was sparing you the embarrassment of hearing in excruciating detail why you were being an idiot. "Well. I promised that doctor at the clinic I would feed you up when I called to get your paperwork, so. I'm afraid you'll just have to stay here. Spencer, you can use the car tomorrow if Brendon wants to go pick up his books and things. But only if you promise to actually bring him back."

"Sure," Spencer said numbly. He couldn't tell if he was happy or annoyed that Brendon was apparently staying; his stomach felt swoopy, like he had gone over one too many hills on Ryan's bike.

"I really don't think," Brendon said weakly, then fell silent, as though he realized resistance was futile. "Okay."

"Good, that's settled," Ginger said pleasantly. "More soup?"

*

"You need to get out of the house," Spencer said, after Brendon had knocked over something in his room for the third time. He'd been a little weird ever since dinner, hyperactive and twitchy in the way that usually meant he was stressing out about something. Unlike Ryan, Brendon dealt with stress by getting louder and faster and _more_, as though he could drown out whatever he was thinking about through sheer force of will. It didn't help that Brendon had been effectively trapped inside since last weekend. Spencer was mostly just impressed he hadn't broken something irreplaceable yet.

"Sorry!" Brendon said immediately, picking up Spencer's alarm clock and placing it back on the table. "Sorry, sorry. I'll like. I can chill out." He sat down obediently and put his hands on his lap, but his foot was still tapping incessantly.

"No, we're going somewhere," Spencer said, feeling around underneath his bed for his sneakers. "We'll go to a movie or something."

"I'm kind of sick of movies," Brendon said quickly. Spencer looked up to see Brendon blushing slightly. He could feel an answering flush on his own cheeks. _Oh_. Right.

"Yeah," Spencer said, "Okay. No movies. The park?"

"Dude," Brendon said, jumping up. "Dude. I am so down for that. Which one, the one down the street or like, the one over by the elementary school. Or. Or that awesome one down by the football fields and the community pool. That one is _sick_."

"Um," Spencer said. He hadn't actually thought that far ahead. "It depends on whether we can take the car. Let me ask." Jeff raised an eyebrow at Spencer's request, but eventually handed over the keys with a reminder that Spencer wasn't allowed to drive after eleven. "Brendon could drive," Spencer pointed out. "He's 17, he has his license. Then we could stay out later."

"He's not insured," Jeff said. "So no. He can't drive. Eleven, okay?"

"Fine," Spencer said, a little grumpily. God. He was16, not _8 _. Jeez.

"Hey," Brendon said, once they were backing out of the garage. "Hey. Hey. Spencer. Spencer. Can we get milkshakes?"

"We just had ice cream," Spencer frowned. "Like, two hours ago."

"I've been sick for a _week_," Brendon said. "I need to make up for lost time. Time I should have been eating ice cream."

Spencer shrugged. He didn't really want any more ice cream, but he didn't mind going to get some for Brendon, if that was what would make him happy. "You're lucky you're such a spazz," Spencer said, by way of agreement. "Or you'd end up my size instead of being a tiny little fucker."

"What do you mean, _your size_," Brendon said, frowning. "Spencer. Don't call yourself fat."

"I didn't," Spencer said, very carefully checking his mirrors. He hadn't called himself fat, because he wasn't. Spencer was just sort of slightly round, still a little pudgy, but he probably wouldn't even have noticed it if he wasn't friends with the two skinniest guys on the planet. Anyway. The point was, Spencer didn't particularly need or want any more ice cream, because they'd seriously just had an entire bowl like two hours ago.

"Don't," Brendon said, more firmly this time. "Spencer. I can hear you thinking. Stop it."

"I'm not thinking about anything," Spencer lied.

"I'm buying you a milkshake," Brendon said.

"Shut up, you don't have any money," Spencer said irritably, flicking on his turn signal. "Also I don't _want_ a milkshake."

"Then what do you want," Brendon said, giving Spencer an odd look, unreadable. "I'll buy you something, seriously."

"I don't know," Spencer said. He really didn't feel like getting into a fight about it. "I'll figure it out when we get there. But you don't have to--"

"Just let me do this," Brendon said quietly once they pulled into the parking lot, so softly that Spencer wasn't sure he heard him correctly. "I, like, I dunno when I"ll be able to pay you back, so--"

Spencer paused with his hand on his seatbelt. "You don't have to," Spencer said, equally softly. He didn't know why but it seemed important to have this conversation now instead of later, before Brendon worked himself into a guilty mess. "It's just sort of. This is what I do, you know? You needed help, some shit got all fucked up, so I helped you fix it. That's all."

"Yeah," Brendon said, looking away. "Except not everyone does that. _Most_ people wouldn't have done that. Especially for uh. Me." Brendon said the last part in a half-whisper, turning to unlock his door as though he considered the conversation over.

"Hey," Spencer said, reaching out and grabbing Brendon's arm before he could run away. "Listen. Brendon." Brendon turned back a little bit, giving Spencer a questioning look, one that said he didn't quite understand why Spencer felt a need to add anything to the conversation. Spencer wanted to smack him upside the head. "Anyone who wouldn't do that for you, they're--they aren't worth it," Spencer said awkwardly, determined to plow through this if it was what Brendon needed to hear. "You're really fucking cool," Spencer continued. "Anyone who can't see that is an idiot."

"So, the rest of the world, minus you and Ryan and Brent and your parents?" Brendon said, a little flatly.

"Fuck them," Spencer said firmly, trying not to sound too pissed off. He knew it was irrational, but right now he just wanted to beat the crap out of Brendon's family, the kids at his school, everyone who had somehow drilled into Brendon that he didn't matter. "You're awesome," Spencer said again. He didn't know what else to say except _I think you're amazing_, but that was a little too telling, a little too close to _I want to kiss you all the time_ and _I wish I could just fix everything for you_ and all the other things Spencer was getting pretty good at not saying.

Brendon smiled at him a little sadly. "Um. Let's just get ice cream, okay?"

They ended up just paying for each other, because Brendon wouldn't back down on buying Spencer something, and neither would Spencer. Brendon's milkshake was practically the size of his head. "You could probably kill somebody with that thing," Spencer said, giving the milkshake a skeptical look. Spencer had a plain scoop of chocolate, in a cup, like a normal person.

"Ice cream is god's gift to mankind," Brendon said, sucking noisily on the straw as they walked out.

"I thought that was Jesus," Spencer said.

"Nah," Brendon said. "Ice cream's better."

Spencer ended up driving them all the way across town to the park near the community pool. Brendon's restless energy was rubbing off; even with the windows down the station wagon felt hot and stuffy, and there were too many unspoken questions sitting on the tip of Spencer's tongue. He turned the radio up louder and pretended not to notice when Brendon leaned back and kicked his feet up on the dashboard, even though he knew it drove Spencer crazy.

Brendon practically raced out of the car once they pulled into the parking lot, giving a tiny whoop as he jumped the low fence, one hand still wrapped tightly around his half-empty milkshake. Spencer followed more slowly, taking time to lock the car and walking around the fence to the actual opening. There were a few other cars parked in the empty lot, but no else seemed to be around. Spencer wasn't nervous about getting mugged or anything--it was _Summerlin_\--but he would have liked to maybe have some other people around. The streetlights glinted blue and gold on Brendon's glasses and the thought of walking over to meet him on the playground seemed too large, too overwhelming. Spencer shivered in the cool breeze and shoved his hands in his pockets; he felt very young and very old at the same time, like he was watching everything through the hazy lens of memories already past. He wanted to run and run and never look back and he wanted to walk up to Brendon and run his hand along the small of Brendon's back, right where his tshirt had ridden up as he'd flipped himself upside down to hang by his knees on the monkey bars. He was, Spencer noted, currently trying to figure out a way to drink his milkshake upside down.

"Oh my god," Spencer said, crossing the grass towards Brendon despite his best efforts at staying away and maybe retaining some of his sanity. "Jesus Christ, that's going to end up on your face."

"Nah, it's cool, I'm holding the top on," Brendon said. His face was flushed from the exertion and the abnormal amount of blood rushing to his head and he grinned at Spencer upside down.

"You're going to give yourself an aneurysm," Spencer said.

"Okay, _Mom_," Brendon said, swinging up easily to rest right-side up on the parallel bars, legs crossed. "Happy now?"

"Yes," Spencer said. "I want my bed back eventually, I don't need you getting your phlegm all over it for another week straight." He reached up and pulled himself up, tucking his legs in and pulling with just his arms.

"Wow," Brendon said, when Spencer was seated across from him, legs dangling. "Dude. That's _hard_."

"Drummer," Spencer said, shrugging with what he hoped was feigned nonchalance. He resisted the urge to flex.

Brendon dropped himself backwards, draping himself over the bars and letting the hand with his empty milkshake cup dangle over the side. "Do you think--" Brendon said, then stopped, staring up at the empty sky. They were too close to the city for there to be any stars; the most Summerlin could offer in that department was a faintly orange, ambient glow.

"What?" Spencer said, then flicked Brendon in the knee. Brendon twitched a little, then dropped his milkshake cup. "Ooops," Brendon said, unrepentantly.

"Liar," Spencer said. "Seriously, Mr. Vegetarian. I can't believe you're littering. You're going to make Mother Earth cry."

"I'm going to pick it up," Brendon said. "Just not right now. I got tired of holding it."

"What were you going to say?" Spencer said, his stomach jittering faintly. Brendon looked really good all stretched out like that, his muscles relaxed and stomach just a little soft and chin raised to the sky.

"Oh--nothing," Brendon said haltingly. "What are you thoughts on swings, Spencer Smith?"

"Swings?" Spencer said.

"Swings," Brendon said. "Swinging. You know, you sit down and kick your legs out--"

"Shut up," Spencer said, shoving at Brendon's knee, but he was laughing.

Brendon raised his head and grinned at Spencer, then rolled up and over in one quick motion, dropping to the ground before Spencer had even processed the movement. "Spence, c'mon," Brendon said, lightly smacking Spencer's dangling sneaker. Then he loped across the park, heading for a stand of swings tucked in near some trees, some of those inexplicable bouncy animals on springs, and a large sandbox. Spencer followed more slowly, watching as Brendon inspected each swing ("For maximum swinging height potential," he informed Spencer solemnly) and choose the perfect one. Spencer leaned up against the tall support pole and watched as Brendon attempted to flip himself over the top of the swingset. Or something.

"Spence, c'mon," Brendon said again, after a few passes. "Swinging is awesome."

"I'm good," Spencer said. "Someone has to call the ambulance when you fall off and kill yourself."

"Dude," Brendon said. "Dude, it's a _playground_. You're worse than my mom."

_Probably_, Spencer thought, but kept it to himself because he knew it would come out sounding mean. Brendon was slowing down a bit, not going quite so high, and Spencer pushed himself off the pole and walked around to the back, reaching up and lightly pushing Brendon as he trailed by. Brendon looked over his shoulder, surprised at the touch, but then he smiled when he realized Spencer was just sort of standing around, pushing every so often when it looked like Brendon was losing steam and starting to slow down.

"When was the last time you saw snow?" Spencer asked, once he'd pushed Brendon a few times, trying hard not to let his hand linger on Brendon's back.

"Um," Brendon said, his voice rising and falling as he swung. "Like, maybe four years, I think. A while."

"Yeah," Spencer said. He thought about the way Brendon flung himself into everything with enthusiasm, the way he was so effortlessly comfortable in his own skin when he was around people he trusted. "You, like. Next time we go on vacation, out to Denver, you want to come?"

"What?" Brendon said, turning his head in surprised and dragging his leg a bit to slow himself down. "You mean like with your family?"

"Yeah," Spencer said, thinking out loud. "It would be fun. We go up to that cabin, you know the one I'm talking about, I've shown you pictures. And there's snow and stuff and I kind of hate it because it's all wet and shit but I think. I think it might be fun if you came."

"Spencer..." Brendon said, biting his lip, slowing himself down all the way so he came to a stop. Spencer reached out without thinking and steadied the swing, so he was pressed up close against Brendon's back. "That would be really cool," Brendon said, softly. "You think your parents would be okay with it?"

"Yeah," Spencer said. "Ryan came with us once or twice, but, you know. Girlfriends and stuff."

"Right," Brendon said, the tip of his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. He was sort of looking over his shoulder at Spencer and Spencer had no idea when they'd gotten so close. It was hard to see Brendon's expression with the streetlight reflecting on his glasses, but Spencer could feel the uneven thump of Brendon's heart against his chest, where they were pressed back to front. "I--" Spencer said, then forgot what he was going to say. Brendon was warm against his chest and he smelled really good and his hair was tickling Spencer's throat.

Spencer really wanted to kiss him.

"Spencer," Brendon said again, softer this time. He was biting his lip just a little, teeth worrying at the corner of his mouth. He tilted his head and leaned back, barely even moving but enough that his body weight shifted a little more into Spencer's space. Spencer vaguely remembered they'd been talking about something, but he had no idea what. "What," Spencer said, and it came out a little breathless.

"I--" Brendon said, and then fell silent, looking up at Spencer with a pleading expression. There was a moment where they were both frozen, just breathing, the syncopated rise and fall of Brendon's chest against his own, and then Brendon tilted his head a little more and then Spencer was leaning in before he even had a chance to figure out what the hell he thought he was doing. He was close enough to feel Brendon's breath when a car pulled in to the parking lot, headlights lighting up the playground in stark illumination.

Spencer jumped back, his heart pounding. He could hear the sound of car doors slamming noisily, teenagers attempting to be silent and hushing each other in loud, uneven voices. He didn't think whoever was in the car had even noticed them yet, but Spencer suddenly wanted to be as far away from there as humanly possible. Not because he was ashamed, or because he didn't want to kiss Brendon, but as far as Spencer knew Brendon didn't want to kiss _him_ and they hadn't even talked about it and Spencer really had no idea what the hell was going on. The last thing he wanted to do was take advantage of Brendon, or find out that Brendon was just settling for Spencer until someone else came along.

"We should go," Brendon said, standing up quickly and not looking at Spencer. "I think I know those kids, they're assholes."

"Yeah," Spencer said, following behind Brendon as he practically ran to the car. He bounced on his toes while he waited for Spencer to unlock the doors, then sat in the front seat and stared out the window for the rest of the ride home.

"Spencer," Brendon said awkwardly, as they were turning the corner onto Spencer's street. He sounded miserable. "Look, I--"

"Later," Spencer said quickly, glancing over at Brendon. He didn't have the energy to figure everything out right now. He was suddenly exhausted, and all Spencer wanted was some time to sort everything out, not to sit in his car and listen to Brendon stutter through some apology and not know what to say in return. "Later, okay?"

"Okay," Brendon said. "Yeah. That's cool." They entered the house in silence, tiptoeing through the den past Spencer's father snoring softly on the couch in front of the TV. Spencer carefully reached over and turned the TV off, then continued upstairs.

"You're not going to..." Brendon whispered, throwing an inquisitive look over his shoulder.

"He'll wake up," Spencer whispered back. "He'll notice the TV's off and know we came home and then he'll go sleep with Mom."

"Oh, okay," Brendon said.

"We should probably just go to bed," Spencer said, raising his voice a little now that they were in his room with the door closed behind them. "I think Mom wants us to go over early."

"Sure," Brendon said, a little too quickly. "That's cool. Did you want your bed back? I can sleep on the floor."

"Oh," Spencer said, frowning. "Yeah. Um. I do, but you can sleep in it tonight, I guess."

"You sure?" Brendon said.

"Yeah," Spencer said.

"Okay," Brendon said. "I'm just going to--"

"Yup." Spencer said, and didn't let out the breath he was holding until Brendon was safely out of the room.

*  
Brendon was up and dressed and rattling around Spencer's room by the time he woke up the next morning. It was a little weird but Spencer wasn't complaining too much, because it meant he woke up to Brendon poking his ankle and the smell of coffee.

"What," Spencer said irritably, jerking awake and kicking at Brendon's hand. "Brendon, it's 9 AM, what the hell." He rolled over and shoved his face back into the pillows, wishing futilely for another few hours of sleep.

"Your mom is making pancakes," Brendon said, sitting down cross legged at the end of Spencer's bed and sipping an extremely large mug of coffee. "Also, I'm bored." His hair was sticking up in the back and he had faint pillow marks on his cheek. Spencer sighed and sat up, making grabby hands at Brendon's coffee.

"No," Brendon said, with dignity. "I'm not whoring my coffee out to you. Get your own coffee."

"After all I do for you," Spencer said, and went to roll out of bed. He watched as Brendon's eyes darted over to his bedside table, and Spencer slowly followed his line of sight. There was a mug of coffee sitting on the table.

"Never mind," Spencer said, his mouth already watering as he stretched out a hand and carefully guided it down. "I lied. You're my favorite. I love you."

"Sure," Brendon said, flushing a little. "Anyway. Get dressed. Pancakes."

"Don't rush us," Spencer said, cooing a little over his coffee. "We haven't even gotten to know one another properly yet. She's a classy lady, Brendon. These things take time."

"Spencer! Pancakes!" Ginger yelled up the stairs. "Before they go cold!"

"Everyone in this house is a terrorist," Spencer said, but Brendon was already out of the room and heading downstairs.

"Fine," Spencer said to the empty room, standing up and yawning and adjusting himself. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and winced at his hair. Ugh.

The pancakes had blueberries in them, which was awesome; what was not so awesome was that Crystal and Brendon and Jackie had eaten all the good ones and left Spencer the two that got rather burnt. He stared sadly down at his plate.

"I tried to warn you," Brendon said. "It's a dog-eat-dog world out there."

"No," Spencer said. "No, it's a Brendon-eat-dog--fuck, it's a dog-eat. Dammit. You know what I'm trying to say. You ate my fucking pancakes, you ass."

"_Language_," Ginger said severely from the kitchen.

"Sorry," Spencer called back, wholly unapologetic. Brendon snorted into his coffee. He wasn't wearing his glasses yet and Spencer found himself thinking about how he sort of liked it that way, because Brendon had really pretty eyes and long eyelashes. Not that he didn't look good with glasses, but this way Spencer could see the the tiny crinkles at the corner of Brendon's eyes when he smiled and yeah, wow. Spencer was fucking _lame_. He shut up and ate his pancakes.

Brendon was quiet on the ride over, fiddling with the radio and switching stations so often Spencer eventually gave in and slapped his hand away. "Pick a station," Spencer said firmly. "Or I'm revoking your passenger privileges."

"Um, okay," Brendon said, switching back and forth between classical and a hard rock station that was currently playing KISS.

"Brendon--" Spencer started, and Brendon winced and left it on classical, absentmindedly tapping out fingerings on his thigh. Spencer kept himself entertained by trying to figure out what instrument Brendon was playing from the fingerings alone, until he remembered he didn't know shit about anything other than the drums.

Brendon was squirrelly and hesitant after they parked, trying to convince Spencer that he should just stay in the car and wait for Brendon to come down. "No one's going to steal my car," Spencer pointed out, frowning. "It's a piece of shit. I'm coming in with you."

"But you don't--" Brendon started, then seemed to give in, his shoulders drooping a little. "Okay. Fine, whatever. That's fine."

"Of course it's fine," Spencer said, starting to get a little annoyed. He didn't know what the big fucking deal was; it wasn't like he hadn't seen Brendon's place before.

They both winced when Brendon pushed open the door to his apartment, the smell of week-old garbage hitting them and sending them both reeling. Spencer felt the bile rise up in his throat and he quickly grabbed all three bags and tugged them outside the door. "Dumpster," he choked out, and Brendon made a face. "Downstairs, behind the building," he said, not looking at Spencer. Spencer nodded and grabbed all of them, walking as quickly as he could down the stairs and trying not to breathe through his nose. He chucked the bags into the dumpster out back and leaned on the buzzer for number 306 downstairs, pressing the button until the door unlocked with a rusty-sounding click. When he got back upstairs Brendon was sort of hovering aimlessly, flitting from one area to another, trying to get everything in some semblance of order. There was a semi-packed duffel bag on the bed with socks and shirts and shoes spilling out of it. Half of them looked dirty.

"Just bring everything," Spencer said. "You can do all your laundry at my house."

"It's fine," Brendon said, draining the sink and trying very obviously not to gag at the smell of week-old dishes caked in food. "I'll just take what I need, I don't want to be a pain in the ass."

"You're not going to be a pain in the ass," Spencer said, ignoring Brendon and starting to pile clothing into various hampers. Spencer had a sneaking suspicion almost everything was dirty anyway. "You need to do laundry. We have a washing machine that doesn't cost money. I'm not sure why we're even discussing this."

"No," Brendon said, rummaging around underneath the tiny sink for dish soap. "It's fine, I'll be fine. Really." Spencer manfully resisted the urge to point out the obvious and concentrated on finding all of Brendon's clothes.

They worked in silence.

*

Two hours later, the apartment didn't really look much better.

Spencer had been trying not to get pissed off, but it was hard. It wasn't that he was angry with Brendon, he knew it wasn't Brendon's fault, but he was frustrated because he wanted to do something about it, take Brendon always from all of this, and he _couldn't_ and Brendon was being all weird about it. He'd been steadily getting more and more angry as he worked, even as he tried to tell himself that it was fine if Brendon was going to ignore him. But then he heard a clatter of dishes and the sound of a plate hitting the floor, the sound of Brendon swearing under his breath, and he was suddenly, irrationally furious. He didn't understand what they were still _doing_ here, why Brendon couldn't hurry the fuck up so they could leave.

"Look, the place is a shithole, doing the dishes isn't going to fix it," Spencer snapped. "If you'd help me with the fucking laundry, we could go already."

Brendon paused, his shoulders tightening. "I just want to finish the dishes," he said slowly, his voice measured and even. "I don't want to have to do them when I get back, they'll be even worse then."

"God, just throw them out," Spencer said, too annoyed to edit himself. "Fuck it, I'll buy you new ones, whatever." He knew as the words were coming out of his mouth that he'd probably gone too far but he was too pissed off to care.

Brendon turned around, giving Spencer an unreadable expression. Spencer paused, his stomach tightening. Brendon was usually an open book when it came to his feelings; the only time he ever closed himself down like that was when someone had hurt him too badly for him to let anyone see. "Fuck you," Brendon said, very carefully, controlled. "I'm not your fucking charity case, Spencer. I worked hard for everything in this fucking room and if it's not good enough for you, you should just fucking leave. I'll be fine on my own."

"Because that worked so well before," Spencer snapped, and something inside him bottomed out when he saw the way Brendon flinched, like Spencer had physically hit him.

"I would have been fine," Brendon said, his jaw set, scrubbing a plate with unnecessary vigor. "I mean thank you and shit, you know, I know how you get off on saving people, but sometimes people don't need your fucking help."

"Oh, fuck _you_," Spencer said, dropping the bag of laundry in shock. "Look, I don't know what your fucking problem is, I don't know why you won't just let people help you when it's _obvious_ you could use it, okay, you're 17 and you live in a shitty apartment and you're broke, and my parents are just fucking worried about you, okay? They don't want you to die or something and I don't want you to die and I don't understand why you can't just make this a little fucking easier on everyone."

"Whatever," Brendon said flatly, dropping the last plate in the sink with a clatter. He quickly walked over and grabbed his duffel and the second bag of laundry, tugging his keys out of his pocket and not even looking to see if Spencer was following. Spencer growled a little in frustration and grabbed Brendon's backpack and the two other bags of laundry, dragging them out to the hallway. Brendon barely let him get out the door before he was slamming it shut and locking it, heading down the stairs without a backwards glance.

"Fuck," Spencer said, fuming. He hoisted both bags over his shoulder and grabbed Brendon's backpack with one hand, trying not to overbalance and fall over. Brendon was waiting for him next to the car when he finally made it down. He threw his stuff in the backseat after Spencer unlocked the doors and refused to look at or speak to Spencer the entire ride home, which was fine with Spencer.

"I'm taking a nap," Brendon said tersely, as soon as Spencer parked in the garage. "I don't feel so good."

"Fine," Spencer said. "Whatever. I'm going to Ryan's." Brendon looked at him then, a look that somehow conveyed a feeling of deep and abiding betrayal, as though that was the worst thing Spencer could possibly have said. He slammed the door as he got out and Spencer resisted the urge to bang his head on the steering wheel in frustration. He was angry and confused, and now Brendon was pissed off at him for going to Ryan's, which was fucking stupid because Ryan was his best friend and Spencer didn't know what else Brendon expected him to do.

He peeled out of his driveway with a satisfying screech of tires on asphalt, not enough that one of his neighbors would call the cops on him, but satisfying all the same in what Spencer admittedly realized was a sort of juvenile way. He wanted to punch something, but he wasn't stupid enough to punch his car, or a tree, or anything else, because Spencer had taken physiology last year and knew that if he was going to be an idiot and punch a wall or something the wall would definitely win.

Ryan was sitting out on his stoop smoking a cigarette when Spencer pulled up, a glass of water sitting next to him and sweating into a neat watery ring around the base.

"You're smoking too much," Spencer said irritably, instead of hello, pulling up into Ryan's driveway and slamming his car door with unnecessary force. "You need to cut down on that shit."

"Hi to you too," Ryan said, raising an eyebrow and shuffling over a bit so Spencer could sit down. "Were we going to hang out? I forgot." Spencer realized belatedly that he'd been too angry to even remember to text Ryan and tell him he was coming.

"No," Spencer said sharply. Ryan frowned and opened his mouth and Spencer quickly cut him off with, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," Ryan said. He dutifully waited a minute or two. "So--"

"I don't fucking _know_!" Spencer burst out, fuming. "I don't even know what the fuck I did, seriously."

"To who?" Ryan said.

"Brendon." Spencer muttered. "Who else."

"Oh," Ryan said.

"Like, whatever, fuck, we went to his apartment to pick up shit and all of a sudden he's all pissed off at me and I can't even figure out what the hell I _did_ except point out his apartment is kind of a shithole and I mean, whatever, it _is_, I mean it's not like I want him to move back in with his parents, because he can't, obviously, but I don't know what he's fucking thinking, because he's just going to get sick again and no one in their right mind could keep doing what he seems to think he's going to do, work and school and band and shit, and what if something _worse_ happens next time, then what the _fuck_are we supposed to do then?" Spencer realized, distantly, that he was kind of yelling a lot.

"Yeah," Ryan said. He blew a stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth. "That blows, dude."

"Yes, yes it does, and it's _fucking stupid_," Spencer said. He realized he was ranting but he couldn't seem to get himself to stop, a week's worth of frustrating pouring out all at once. "I don't know what the hell he's thinking but I swear to god, if he pulls this fucking 'no, no, i'm fine, don't worry about me' bullshit one more time, I'm going to fucking strangle him, because he _obviously_ can't do it all on his own and I'm just so fucking sick of watching him act like he doesn't fucking matter, like, what the fuck is that shit, seriously, I mean you fucking care about him, right, I know you like to pretend he pisses you off but you would actually help him out if it came down to it, and Brent does, we all do, I mean, fuck, I'm in love with the fucking asshole and I can't even fucking tell him and I wish he would just suck it up and _deal_ when people want to help him because it's not like I can show him any other way, and. Fuck." Spencer said, stopping abruptly.

"Fuck," Ryan agreed sagely, nodding.

"Um," Spencer said. He had kind of gotten carried away. Shit.

"I don't know," Ryan said, after a few moments where they just sat in awkward silence. "Maybe you shouldn't have said that about his apartment."

"I shouldn't have said that about his apartment?" Spencer said. "What the fuck, it's true."

"It's kind of like," Ryan said, flicking the tip of his cigarette against the front stoop. "I think for him, it's kind of like calling my dad a drunk."

"I would never call your dad a drunk," Spencer said.

"He is," Ryan said, shrugging.

"But I would never _call_him that--oh," Spencer said. "Shit."

"See?" Ryan said.

"Yeah," Spencer said. "Shit." He stared down at his feet for a while. There was a spot right on the toe of his sneaker where the rubber was starting to peel away from the sole.

"Maybe you should apologize," Ryan said slowly. "If you're in love with him and stuff."

"Yeah, about that," Spencer said, and stopped. He didn't really know how to explain it to Ryan. He wished he'd thought this through a little further, but he'd been so pissed and it had just sort of slipped out. He took a deep breath. "I'm kind of. I think I'm gay."

"Okay," Ryan said.

"The fuck," Spencer said, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. It was weird, it wasn't like he'd been worried, but. Maybe he'd been a little worried. "I tell you I'm gay and all you can say is 'okay'"?

"I don't really care," Ryan said, shrugging. "I mean, it would have been awkward if you were like, in love with _me_, but if you like Brendon, that's cool. We're good."

"Ugh, I'm not in love with you," Spencer said, wrinkling his nose. "Ugh."

"Good," Ryan said, grinning a little out of the side of his mouth, a smile that Spencer knew meant he was trying very hard not to laugh. "Because I love you and stuff, but I don't want to suck your dick."

"That works out well for both of us," Spencer said. "I don't want to suck your dick either." He very carefully did not think about Brendon's dick.

"You couldn't handle my dick," Ryan said, smirking.

"Like Tarah can?" Spencer said. "Wait, wait, don't answer that."

"She can," Ryan said smugly.

"Ugh," Spencer said. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. "So yeah, anyway. Dudes."

"Took you long enough," Ryan said. "Have you told Brendon?"

"Why would I tell Brendon?" Spencer said, frowning. "Wait, he told you?"

"Told me what?" Ryan said. "I just kind of thought. You know."

"No," Spencer said. "I don't know, what?" Apparently today was the day for everyone to confuse the fuck out of Spencer.

"You guys are like," Ryan said, and then stopped. "He kind of loves you back, dude."

"Shut _up_," Spencer said, his stomach twisting up in knots again. "No, he doesn't, I would have noticed."

"You're kind of dense sometimes," Ryan said.

"I am totally the observant one in this friendship," Spencer argued. "No. I don't believe you."

"I'm observant," Ryan said. "When it comes to, like. Sex."

"No way," Spencer said.

"He stares at your ass," Ryan said.

"Oh," Spencer said, his face flushing. "Really?"

Ryan shrugged. "Maybe you guys should talk or something."

"What am I supposed to say," Spencer said, a little hysterically. He felt like he'd swallowed an entire circus fair. It was weird and awesome and okay, it made last night make a little more sense, but Brendon was still pissed at him, and he didn't think that storming into his room and waking Brendon up and grandly declaring his intentions was going to fix things.

"I don't know," Ryan said. "I mean, if I pissed Tarah off I'd probably buy her flowers or something."

"I'm not buying Brendon flowers," Spencer said.

"I didn't say you should," Ryan said. "Just like. Do something nice for him. Maybe he'll put out." He tossed his cigarette down on the stoop and stubbed it out with the toe of his shoe.

"Okay, no," Spencer said, horrified. "I never want to hear that sentence come out of your mouth ever again." Partially because the thought of even kissing Brendon made Spencer a little dizzy, but mostly because Spencer was tired of people underestimating Brendon and making him feel like he wasn't worth anything. He knew Ryan hadn't meant it like that, but it still grated.

"Fine," Ryan said, rolling his eyes. "Do something nice for him and then maybe you guys can hold hands and talk about how gay you are for each other." Spencer punched him firmly in the shoulder.

"Wow," Ryan said, smirking, rubbing the bruise. "You really like him, don't you."

"Yeah," Spencer said. He knew he was blushing. "Can we please never have this conversation ever again?"

"Totally," Ryan said. "Want to play Halo?"

"Fuck yes," Spencer said, standing up. "I am going to kick your ass. Ascension?"

"No, I suck at that map," Ryan said. "We're playing Lockout."

"Laaaaame," Spencer said. "But I'm still going to kick your ass."

"Yeah, yeah, suck my dick," Ryan said, and pretended not to notice when Spencer snorted with laughter.

*

Spencer knocked on the door to his bedroom softly, trying to ascertain if Brendon was actually sleeping or had just been trying to get rid of him earlier. When there was no reply, Spencer tried to knob and was relieved to find it was open. He didn't really think Brendon would have locked him out of his own room, but Spencer was willing to admit he might have deserved it if he had.

Brendon was passed out on his back on the air mattress with his shoes and glasses still on, his chest rising and falling softly. Spencer smiled ruefully to himself and tiptoed in, easing down to sit on the bed. Brendon almost never slept during the day--he had far too much energy for that--but Spencer had a feeling his body was still recovering, no matter what Brendon seemed to think. A stack of Spencer's old comic books was pulled out from under his bed, one issue lying flat on the mattress next to Brendon's head. One of the pages was bent and earmarked; Spencer smoothed it out carefully and placed it back on top of the stack.

If anyone else had done that he would have been furious, he realized belatedly. It was really kind of sad how gone he was for this dude.

He reached over to take off Brendon's glasses for him and at the first touch of Spencer's fingers Brendon sort of sighed and nuzzled into the touch. Spencer couldn't help it; he ran his thumb just over the high curve of Brendon's cheekbone and that was when Brendon jerked and woke up.

"Wha--" Brendon said, blinking rapidly. Spencer jerked his hand back."Hey," he said. "You uh. You fell asleep with your glasses on."

"Oh," Brendon said, and then seemed to remember he was mad at Spencer. He watched as Brendon closed his expression down, rolling over onto his side and curling away from Spencer. "I'm sorry I was an ass," Spencer blurted, unable to watch Brendon shut himself down like that and know it was all his fault. "I shouldn't have said that shit, I wasn't thinking, I just--sometimes things come out wrong."

"Yeah," Brendon said softy, still facing away. "They do."

"Shit," Spencer said miserably, trying to dredge up the words to make everything okay. "Shit, Brendon, I just wish I could--"

"You could what," Brendon said, rolling over. He looked both small and fierce, like he was scared but willing to take anything Spencer could dish out. It made Spencer's chest hurt, because he'd seen that expression before but never directed at _him_. "Look, I know you mean well, but I can take care of myself, okay? I'm not your fucking little brother or something, or, well, big brother, whatever, the point is you don't need to take care of me."

"What," Spencer said, honestly floored. "I--you think I think that?"

"Sometimes," Brendon muttered.

"I definitely don't think about you like that," Spencer said, then hurried to correct himself when he realized all the ways that could be misinterpreted. "I mean. Look, you're my friend, okay? I don't think of you as like, needing my help all the time, it's just. This is how I show it, you know? I was a dickhead to you because I was all worried and shit."

"Yeah," Brendon said softly, staring at the wall behind Spencer's shoulder and not at Spencer himself.

"You're so brave, dude," Spencer stuttered out, unexpectedly honest. He didn't know where the words were coming from, but he wasn't going to argue, not when it made Brendon's eyes widen in surprise as though that was the last thing he expected Spencer to say. Spencer took a deep breath. "I just. I could never do that, you know? If my parents kicked me out I wouldn't have been able to do that, I'd be home in a week, begging for their forgiveness, telling them I'd do whatever they wanted. And I can't believe you did it all on your own, it's just so. I don't know," Spencer said, softly, frustrated that he couldn't find the right words. "I'm not even sure _Ryan_could have done that."

"I'm not brave," Brendon said, looking away. "Stupid, maybe. Stubborn. Not brave."

"You are." Spencer said. "I think you are." He thought about all the time he'd fucked things up in the past few months, all the times when he'd been too stupid and self-centered and clueless to see what was right in front of him. And the whole time Spencer had been fucking around like an idiot Brendon had been living _there_, alone, not telling anyone about how shitty his life had become because he wasn't sure if he'd still have friends after he did. It made Spencer's chest hurt just thinking about it.

Brendon looked away again, but it didn't seem quite as angry this time, more like he was embarrassed. "Can we just," Brendon said. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Are we okay?" Spencer said. Brendon paused for a moment, and then nodded slowly. "Okay," Spencer said carefully, feeling the atmosphere in the room shift a little closer to normal. "Then you want to go play glow-in-the-dark mini golf?"

"What?" Brendon said, his mouth falling open a little. "They have that?"

"I know a place," Spencer said. He didn't add that the tip had come from Ryan, who had remembered about it halfway through a truly epic, best-out-of-twenty-one Halo grudge match. "C'mon, I was a jerk earlier. Let me make it up to you."

"Holy shit, yes," Brendon said, scrambling up and scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Why aren't we there right now?"

"It's like forty-five minutes away," Spencer warned.

"Dude, whatever," Brendon said. "That's totally worth it." He grabbed a hoodie from his duffel bag next to the door and gave Spencer a significant look when he didn't move fast enough for Brendon's liking.

"Last one to the car has to pay for dinner," Brendon said, smirking. Spencer made sure to follow slowly enough that there wasn't even a question.

*

_05/22/2004 - Saturday_

(1) new text message from: Ryan (8164572234)

7:27 PM hows ur date going

...

7:35 PM shut up assface it's not a date it's just mini golf

...

7:37 PM if u buy him ice cream i bet he'll hold ur hand

...

7:39 PM i hate you. we're not friends.

...

7:42 PM whatevr whos winning

...

7:43 PM bden

...

7:45 PM ur letting him win??? it's totally a date ur so lame

7:49 PM spencer???

7:55 PM ru guys makin out or something

...

8:22 PM n we're done w/ minigolf trying to decide on a movie

...

8:35 PM just don't forget 2 invite me 2 the wedding

...

8:39 PM suck my dick

...

8:41 PM i bet bden probably would

"Who are you texting," Brendon said, leaning over and trying to peer at Spencer's screen. Spencer jerked it away.

"Ryan," Spencer said, blushing furiously.

"Can I see?" Brendon said. "What are you guys talking about?"

"No," Spencer said.

"But--"

"No," Spencer said. "You want popcorn? I want popcorn."

*

"Sundays are a fucking tease," Spencer said irritably, popping the tab on his second can of soda. They were spread out in the den, nearly surrounded by piles of textbooks and notebooks and papers. Brendon had a week's worth of class to catch up on and Spencer had a end-of-term paper due on Tuesday; it was only two and they'd already been at it for hours. "It's like, oh, hey, weekend, relax, kick your feet up but no--no! fuck you. We'll give you _acres of homework_so you can't even enjoy it."

"Yeah," Brendon said distantly, squinting at the screen on Spencer's family computer. "When was the Treaty of Versailles again?"

"Uh," Spencer said. "Um. 1921. No. 1919. Yes. Maybe."

Brendon frowned down at his notes, and flipped forward a few pages in his history book. "Wait, if that was 1919, then when was--"

"Call Ryan," Spencer said. "I promise I don't know, dude. I blow at History."

"No, it's cool, I found it," Brendon said, then went back to typing furiously. Spencer had offered up the computer and Brendon had taken it after a few moment's hesitation. Spencer knew he would need it eventually, but he figured he could just write out his outline by hand, maybe get a few paragraphs down, and then type everything up later on. Brendon typed a lot faster than he wrote and he had more work to do overall, so it only made sense.

Ginger poked her head in around five; she raised an eyebrow at the absolute mess they'd made of the den, but didn't comment other than to ask if they wanted pizza. "Yes," Spencer said emphatically. "Pepperoni and Mushroom?"

"Half pepperoni and mushroom, half just pepperoni," Ginger said. "You know your father hates mushrooms."

"I think I was adopted," Spencer said.

"I think I would remember that," Ginger said drily. "Brendon, just cheese okay? Or do you want veggie?"

"Um," Brendon said, tapping his pencil against the computer desk in a complicated rhythm. "Whatever is easier, honestly."

"Veggie," Ginger said firmly. "I'll eat some of it, and you need the nutrients."

"Adopted," Spencer said again, shaking his head. "You found me on the doorstep, don't lie."

"Mushrooms are vegetables," Ginger said, reaching out and ruffling Spencer's hair a little. "I had hoped you might have picked that up in Biology."

"Lies," Spencer said.

"Take it up with Linnaeus," Ginger called, going back into the living room to get the phone.

"Mushrooms are fungi, actually," Brendon said distractedly, flipping through another textbook. "Technically they aren't vegetables."

"HAH," Spencer said, but his mom was already out of earshot. Spencer sighed a little at the injustice of his life and turned back to his copy of _Macbeth_. He sort of wanted to call Ryan and make him just explain everything to him, but the problem with Ryan was that while he could come up with amazing things on paper, his verbal explanations of literature tended towards things like "Well, there was a dead guy," and "I don't know, there's some symbolism and shit."

Spencer glanced over at Brendon and watched as Brendon variously jiggled his leg, frowned at the screen, sighed, tucked his legs up underneath him, drummed his fingers on the tabletop, realized what he was doing, stopped, and then repeated the process.

"Okay," Spencer said. "Executive decision. We're taking a break until the food gets here."

"But--" Brendon said.

"No," Spencer said. "You can't get everything done tonight, anyway. Half an hour off isn't going to kill you." He leaned over on the coffee table to grab the TV remote, then started clearing a space for Brendon on the couch. Brendon paused a little, hovering, and Spencer rolled his eyes and tugged him down, not even trying to ignore the fluttering in his chest when Brendon sat much closer to him than he actually had to. Spencer had spent the past twenty-four hours trying to figure Brendon out, trying to see if Ryan's hunch was correct, but it was frustrating because Brendon acted exactly the way he normally did around Spencer, and Spencer couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Ooooh, _America's Next Top Model_," Brendon said, stealing the remote.

"You're so gay," Spencer said, without thinking. Brendon stilled for a second and then slid his glance sideways, evaluating Spencer's expression out of the corner of his eye. Spencer wanted to smile reassuringly, something to let Brendon know he was just kidding and kind of an insensitive jerk for letting it slip out like that. Instead he swallowed and stared straight ahead and hoped his mortified expression wasn't a dead giveaway.

Brendon turned back to the TV after a few moments, a tiny smile playing somewhere around his mouth. "Yeah," Brendon said, in a slightly rueful tone. "I really kind of am."

Spencer wanted to tell Brendon that it was okay, they could be gay together, no, really, Spencer was _completely in favor_of that idea, but his parents were in the next room over and Spencer felt it might be a less than ideal time. He concentrated very firmly on the TV. Amanda was being given something hideous to wear, and complaining loudly about it. "Ugh," Spencer said. "If someone made me wear that, I'd quit."

"I don't know," Brendon said thoughtfully. "You wouldn't look so bad in booty shorts."

Spencer whipped his head around but Brendon just smiled at him sunnily, giving nothing away.

"I can't tell if you're making fun of me," Spencer said, a little disgruntled.

"Why would I be making fun of you?" Brendon said.

Spencer glanced down at himself and then over at Brendon, trying to imply with the power of his mind that while Spencer was a perfectly acceptable size, if slightly softer and rounder than Spencer would have preferred, that squeezing himself into bright purple lycra bike shorts with sequins on the ass wasn't going to do any favors for anyone.

Brendon shrugged and turned back to the TV, one hand tapping idly on his thigh. Spencer thought about what might happen if he reached out and grabbed Brendon's hand, and then he thought about homework and pizza and how he'd probably end up throwing up said pizza in the bathroom after Brendon tried to let him down easy. He stayed exactly where he was and didn't move a muscle, for fear he'd do something he'd regret.

"You're really tense," Brendon said, at the next commercial break, interrupting Spencer's monologue on why it was dumb to have commercials for fast food places that didn't even _exist_in their state and how it could probably be considered cruel and unusual punishment. "Are you okay?"

"Totally," Spencer said. "I'm just a little stressed. Um. About school."

"Hey," Brendon said, reaching an arm jerkily around Spencer's shoulders to squeeze him. "You'll be good, you're awesome at school stuff."

"I'm awesome at _math_," Spencer corrected him. Brendon's arm was still lying across Spencer's shoulders and he didn't seem inclined to move it. It made Spencer feel funny inside. In a good way. "Don't confuse me with Ryan."

"I'm pretty sure I could never confuse you with Ryan," Brendon said solemnly.

"Oh," Spencer said faintly. "Okay." It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but it seemed like a dangerous time to ask, what with Brendon sort of hugging him and all.

"He's uh, taller," Brendon said, after a long moment where they just sat there staring at each other.

"No he's not," Spencer said, affronted. "He totally is not."

"Maybe he's just skinner," Brendon said, followed quickly by "Not that you're--"

"I know," Spencer said. "Brendon, it's fine."

"You need to stop saying that," Brendon started, gearing up for lecture mode. He was interrupted a few sentences in by the siren call of the doorbell and Ginger yelling "Boys! Pizza!" from the kitchen. Spencer silently thanked the pizza guy's timing and stood up, happy to avoid this particular conversation. Brendon just stayed on the couch and blinked up at him.

"Do you like," Spencer said, when Brendon didn't seem inclined to move. "Do you need a hand or something?"

"No," Brendon said, but when Spencer offered him a hand up anyway, he took it.

*

They gave up at midnight, when Spencer noticed that Brendon had fallen asleep in his computer chair and was drooling slightly on himself. He scrubbed his eyes and then got up, shaking Brendon's shoulder. Brendon jerked awake, mumbling something about Normandy.

"Bed," Spencer said, yawning. "Come on, up. We have to get up at like five thirty."

"Ugh," Brendon said tiredly, trying to surreptitiously wipe the drool off his mouth. "Fuck."

"Yes," Spencer said. "Bed now." He was so tired he didn't even realize he'd been supposed to sleep in his own bed tonight, until Brendon poked his foot tiredly, coming back from the bathroom. "You want to switch?" Brendon yawned, the words coming out fuzzy and indistinct.

"Nah," Spencer mumbled, face already pressed to the pillow. "S'fine. I'm comfy."

"Okay," Brendon said, hitting the lights and crawling into bed. Spencer listened to him get comfortable, the familiar rustling and the slight squeak of springs as Brendon shifted and arranged the pillows. Spencer was just starting to drift off to sleep when Brendon said softly, "Spencer?"

"Mmmm," Spencer hummed. Brendon didn't say anything for a while.

"What," Spencer said fuzzily, after his brain informed him that Brendon probably wanted to talk and thought Spencer was asleep. Spencer was tired, but he was also curious.

"Do you ever, like," Brendon said, his voice sort of low and hazy. "Being around Ryan and stuff, don't you ever get lonely?"

"What, you mean like...?"

"I don't know," Brendon said softly. "I mean you never--he's always got someone."

"Yeah," Spencer said softly. He suspected this conversation was really about how _Brendon_ was lonely, but it wasn't like it wasn't equally true for Spencer. "Kinda. Sometimes."

"Oh," Brendon said. He seemed to think about it for a while, long enough that Spencer's mind was wandering to all the ways he could offer to relieve Brendon's loneliness, if he could only get up the fucking courage to say something. "What about that girl," Brendon said eventually, his voice even. "The one you were talking about, did you ever...?"

"No," Spencer said, staring at the ceiling. The lie weighed heavy on his chest. God, he was such a dick. "She like. I don't think it's going to work out."

"Did you tell her? She said no?" Brendon said.

"No," Spencer said. "But I'm pretty sure she's not really...I like, I thought I wanted that. But I don't." That last part, at least, wasn't a lie.

"What do you want?" Brendon asked quietly, hushed in the darkness.

_You_, Spencer wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth he couldn't get enough air.

He laid there for a long time, just thinking about Brendon's question, phrased in the simplest possible terms, a question that should have been easy to answer and yet wasn't, not at all. It was weird, how Spencer had spent so long sort of unquestioningly following the general consensus as to what he was supposed to do (made up of, respectively, his parents and his teachers and Ryan) and then one day he'd looked up and realized it was all wrong, like a sweater that had shrunk in the wash and ended up itchy and too tight.

The problem was that even when it was starting to become blatantly obvious to Spencer that there were steps he needed to take, stuff he needed to do to figure out how to make everything fit _right_, Spencer couldn't do it. He didn't know why. It seemed, Spencer thought, that when it was someone else's problem it was fine, but apparently the stuff inside his own head was another matter. Every time he tried to talk about it he froze up, except that one time with Ryan when he'd been too pissed off to care. Spencer didn't relish the idea of getting into another fight with Brendon just so he could tell him he liked him. That seemed kind of dumb. And counterproductive.

Spencer stayed silent so long he noticed when Brendon's breathing changed, when he started to slip closer and closer into sleep. Spencer stared up at the ceiling and thought about concrete measures that might result in him being less of a lamer. He very carefully did not think about the consequences of his actions, because if he did that Spencer knew he'd never go through with it.

Spencer rolled on his side, opening his eyes and letting them adjust to the faint amount of light in the room. Brendon was on his stomach, facing Spencer, eyes closed and one arm hanging off the side. His face was soft and relaxed in sleep, even as he was sort of curled in on himself.

Spencer stared at Brendon for a long moment and then carefully reached out, brushing just his fingertips over Brendon's outstretched hand. Brendon's palm was open and a little sweaty and Spencer ignored the jackhammering of his heart in his chest and linked their fingers together. He didn't think Brendon was even awake but Spencer didn't know how else to say it; he knew that if he tried, it would all come out wrong. Spencer told himself it was a trial run. A lame-ass trial run, but still.

Holding Brendon's hand felt really nice.

Spencer held on for a moment, just relishing the feel. It hurt in a sort of bittersweet way. Spencer knew the sting was all his own fault, that he was sabotaging himself, but it was hard to focus on that when he could feel the faint rhythm of Brendon's heartbeat through his fingers, a slow steady counterpoint to Spencer's.

He made himself let go, eventually, shifting a little so he could start untangling their fingers.

Brendon tightened his grip, settling their fingers together more firmly, not letting Spencer go.

Spencer looked up in shock, his heart pounding. He could feel he was blushing crimson. He had no idea what to say.

Brendon had opened his eyes and was looking back at him, hazy and sleepy but definitely awake. "Spencer," he said softly, cautiously, whispering Spencer's name between them like a secret.

"Yeah," Spencer said, equally softly. Screwing up all of his courage, he added, "I kind of. I like you," just in case that wasn't clear from the handholding.

"I thought--" Brendon said.

"I lied," Spencer said quickly. "I was just. I was scared."

"Me too," Brendon said. He slowly rubbed his thumb over the hollow just between Spencer's first finger and thumb, and Spencer felt something inside quicken, something shivery and warm. He looked up to see Brendon biting his lip.

"I like you a lot," Brendon said. "Is it going to be weird?"

"No," Spencer said. "No, that's. I. Me too."

"Okay," Brendon said. "Because I thought that you--"

Spencer took a deep breath. "It's just you," he said, squeezing Brendon's hand a little, watching the way Brendon's eyes curled a little at the corners when he smiled, slow and sweet. "It's um. It's been you for a long time. I just didn't really get it until now."

Brendon leaned over the side of the bed and kissed him.

It was soft and dry, not much more than a peck but as soon as Brendon pulled back all Spencer could think of was _more_.

"Come here," Spencer said softly, ignoring the way he felt sort of like he'd just won the lottery and sort of like he was going to throw up. He tugged on their joined hands and Brendon came willingly,

"Hi," Brendon said once he was on the air mattress, lying on his side facing Spencer. He sounded a little breathless. He had their joined hands pressed up close to his chest and Spencer could feel how hard his heart was pounding. Spencer sort of wanted to turn on the light so he could see Brendon's face better but some part of his brain informed him that they were having a moment and turning on the light would probably ruin the atmosphere.

"Hey," Spencer said instead, leaning back in and kissing Brendon properly. It started out the same but after a few minutes Spencer carefully slid his other hand over to tangle in Brendon's hair and Brendon sort of relaxed into the kiss, opening up under Spencer's mouth. It wasn't perfect; their noses knocked, once or twice, and Spencer was the first to admit he barely knew what he was doing, but he didn't really care. It felt nothing like that one time he'd made out with Amanda. That had been sort of lackluster, if he was honest, and he'd spent the whole time wondering what it was he was supposed to be getting out of it.

Kissing Brendon was nothing like that. Brendon made tiny, pleased noises when he kissed and almost purred when Spencer scratched at the base of his skull and Spencer was pretty sure he could do this for hours and not get bored. Days, even.

Brendon finally pulled back after some indeterminable amount of time, laughing a little when Spencer automatically leaned forward and then leaning back into kiss Spencer one more time, smiling under Spencer's mouth. "School," Brendon said reluctantly. "We sort of need to sleep at some point."

"No we don't," Spencer said, tightening his grip on Brendon's hand. "Sleep is for losers."

"Then I'm a loser," Brendon said, teasing. "I need more than an hour if I'm going to make it through tomorrow."

"You're not a loser," Spencer said, leaning back in and nipping at Brendon's lower lip, just because he could. "You're not allowed to say that anymore. I'm making a rule."

"Oh, really," Brendon said. "Thanks for letting me know, your highness."

"You're not," Spencer said. "Losers don't have boyfriends."

"Oh," Brendon said, a little surprised. "You want me to be--"

"Yeah," Spencer said. "Please," he added, feeling like it was probably the sort of request that required a 'please' at the end. "If you want."

"Okay," Brendon said, leaning forward so that the last words were spoken directly against Spencer's mouth. Spencer could feel his wide, delighted smile. "I'll be your boyfriend, Spencer Smith."

"Awesome," Spencer said, and kissed him again.

*

Several hours later, Brendon kicked Spencer under the table while they were groggily eating breakfast.

Spencer frowned, opened his mouth to tell Brendon to cut it out, and then realized Brendon had very carefully used the motion to disguise the fact that his foot was now curled up against Spencer's under the table. He stroked Spencer's calf a little with his ridiculous sneakers and gave Spencer an aggressively innocent look when Spencer glanced over at him.

Spencer ducked his head and smiled into his cereal.

*

Monday afternoon, however, was a little awkward.

Spencer flitted around aimlessly when he got home, walking from room to room and forgetting each time the reason why he'd gone there in the first place. It took Brendon an extra hour to make it back from school because of the buses, by which point Spencer had already turned to video games as the best possible distraction.

"Hey," Brendon said, dropping his backpack just inside Spencer's bedroom doorway.

"Hey," Spencer said.

There was a long pause.

"You want to play?" Spencer said finally, when he couldn't think of anything else, holding out the second controller. Brendon took it gratefully. Spencer lasted three rounds of Mario Kart, during which Brendon inched progressively closer on the bed, before he gave up and tugged Brendon over.

"I didn't want this to be weird," Spencer said. Brendon snuggled a little closer, so they were both leaning up against the headboard and pressed together all down Spencer's side.

"It's a little weird," Brendon said. "Can we make out now?"

"Shit, yes," Spencer said. "For future reference, the answer to that question is always yes."

"Awesome," Brendon said, and leaned over to kiss him.

*  
Brendon had to work on Tuesday, so Spencer didn't see him until late, when he drove across town to pick him up after his shift was over. Spencer sang along to the radio at top volume and felt sort of like a lamer, but not enough to actually stop.

There'd been some question as to whether or not Brendon was going to get his job back; Brendon had sort of awkwardly admitted at dinner on Monday that he was pretty sure he just needed to start looking for another job, considering he didn't have any parents or anyone to vouch for him. Ginger raised an eyebrow and then pulled Brendon aside after dinner, holding a quick conversation in low, hushed tones. Spencer sort of wandered away, and by the time he got bored with fighting Jackie for the remote in the den, his mom was already on the phone with someone.

"Manager," Brendon mouthed silently to Spencer, leaning up against the counters and jiggling his leg slightly. "I understand," Ginger was saying, politely but firmly. "but you have to realize there were extenuating circumstances. Yes. No, no, we have it all on paper, he can bring you copies. Did you want to--okay. Brendon," she said, holding out the phone. "She'd like to talk to you for a moment." Brendon took the phone wordlessly, looking a little unsure. Spencer found himself sort of hovering until Ginger rolled her eyes and tugged him out of the room.

"Give him his space," she said. "I'm sure he doesn't need you to listen to him groveling."

"He shouldn't have to grovel," Spencer had said, concerned. "I mean, that's crap, he got sick, it's not his fault--"

"I know that," Ginger said. "And you know that. Unfortunately..." She left the _that's not always the way it works_ unsaid.

"Yeah," Spencer said. "You're probably right."

"It's been known to happen occasionally," Ginger said mildly. "I do have this thing called life experience. I hear it's useful sometimes." Spencer snorted. As much as he hated to admit it, she was sort of right. It wasn't like Spencer had all that much experience with jobs and bosses and things.

Brendon came back out after a few minutes, looking cautiously hopeful. "So?" Spencer prompted, when Brendon didn't say anything at first.

"I'm on probation," Brendon said. "But I start again tomorrow. Can you, um, can you come pick me up this week after I get out? The buses don't run out to Summerlin this late."

"Totally," Spencer said, not even trying to hide his relief. He wanted to squeeze Brendon's hand or something but his mom was standing right there, so he settled for beaming. Brendon smiled back at him, his shoulders relaxing a little. Ginger cleared her throat after a few minutes where they just stood there grinning at each other like idiots. "It's possible," Ginger said, hiding a smile. "It's _possible_there may be celebratory cupcakes on the counter. But you didn't hear it from me."

"The ones for Crystal and Jackie's gymnastics fundraiser?" Spencer asked. "The ones with the big sign that say DON'T EAT IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ginger said, and went to go watch _Lost_in the den with Spencer's dad.

*

Brendon was waiting outside the mall on the sidewalk when Spencer showed up, slurping a large smoothie and holding a second, smaller one carefully in his hand.

"No mango," Brendon said apologetically as he slid into the front seat. "Strawberry Banana, some idiot spilled the rest of the mango on the floor and we won't get more until tomorrow."

"I wonder who that could have been," Spencer said, taking an experimental slip of his smoothie. It was pretty good.

"Lies," Brendon said. "Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated."

"No one's saying you died," Spencer said. "Just that you have a tendency to drop things. Like mangos."

"Oh, I love this song," Brendon said, turning up the radio and purposefully ignoring Spencer, but when Spencer looked over he could tell Brendon was smiling around his straw.

"So how was work," Spencer asked, after a few minutes. "Besides the unfortunate mango incident."

"Boring," Brendon said. "Also, the mango thing wasn't my fault. Jess knocked my arm."

"Oh," Spencer said, coloring a little. He was suddenly, feverently glad he'd never specified who his fake crush was. That would have been seriously awkward. "How's she doing?" Spencer said, a little stilted.

"Good," Brendon said, raising an eyebrow speculatively. "I didn't realize you two were close."

"Nah, we just hang out in band sometimes," Spencer said. He didn't mention that she'd been the one to tip him off that Brendon was really sick. Or that she'd been the one who assumed they were really gay for each other. He figured he'd let that little detail sort itself out in its own time. "She's pretty cool."

"Yeah," Brendon said shrugging. "I guess." He looked a little concerned for a moment, his forehead creasing in the sharp, oscillating reflections of the highway lights and Spencer reached over and fumbled around until Brendon got the message and held Spencer's hand. "We're good," Spencer said, staring straight out at the highway with studied concentration. "You don't need to stress."

"I'm not stressing," Brendon said. Spencer squeezed his hand again.

*

_05/26/2004 - Wednesday_

(1) new text message from: Ryan (8164572234)

3:41 PM what the fuck why is math so hard. we should trade brains

...

3:50 PM no srsly i know you took geometry i need help with this shit.

...

4:01 PM are u dead or something

...

(2) Missed Calls: Ryan (8164572234)

...

4:08 PM if yr playing halo w/bden and ignoring me i'm going to kick yr ass

...

4:35 PM seriously what the hell are u guys doing bden won't answer his phone either

...

4:49 PM holy shit dude are you getting laid?????

"Fuck," Spencer muttered, groping blindly on the night stand for his phone with one hand. It had been vibrating pretty much non-stop for the past hour. Spencer winced when he flipped it open and saw that everything was from Ryan.

"I can't believe Ryan Ross is cockblocking me," Brendon said. It came out a little breathless.

"Me either," Spencer said, typing in a quick _not dead, busy, call you later_, and pressing send. After he was sure it went though, Spencer turned his phone off and went back to what they had been doing all afternoon, which involved a lot of impressive hickeys and sexual frustration on Spencer's part, coupled with a very real fear that he was doing it wrong. What, Spencer didn't exactly know, which was sort of the point. Not that hooking up with Brendon wasn't awesome, but it had seemed a whole lot slicker on the internet. Spencer consoled himself with the fact that Brendon was just as clueless as he was, and wrapped a hand around the small of Brendon's back to pull him in tighter.

They both groaned when Brendon's phone vibrated in his pocket a few seconds later.

"Just turn it off," Spencer mumbled, biting Brendon's lip and loving the way it made Brendon hiss and shift a little, one leg almost in between Spencer's own, not quite close enough for friction. Brendon pulled back a little and pulled it out of his pocket to check the screen. Spencer suppressed a sigh. He was trying not to be a jerk, but Brendon was hot and he was really fucking horny and he had been sort of hoping they could fumble through things together, as it were, before his parents got home.

"He wants to know if we're having sex," Brendon said, slightly horrified. He raised an eyebrow when his phone vibrated again in his hand, a second message coming through directly on the heels of the first. Brendon snorted and turned the phone around so Spencer could read the screen. It said simply, _NO DETAILS!!_

"Were you going to tell him?" Spencer asked. He kind of figured that the question of who to tell or not tell should be up to Brendon, considering. He didn't want to keep a secret like that from Ryan (and if he was perfectly honest with himself, Spencer seriously doubted he could) but he would make the effort if that's what Brendon wanted.

"That we're having sex?" Brendon said. "I'm pretty sure making out doesn't count, dude."

"No, I mean. I didn't. I sort of maybe let it slip that I uh. Liked you. But I didn't tell him anything about us," Spencer tried to explain. "He's just being weird."

"You told Ryan?" Brendon said, his eyes widening slightly.

"It sort of slipped out," Spencer said apologetically. "I didn't mean to."

"No, it's okay," Brendon said, leaning in to kiss Spencer softly. "That's kind of cool. I mean. That he didn't freak."

"Ryan would never freak," Spencer said confidently. "He pretty much only cares about what happens to _his_dick. Everyone else can do what they want, as far as he's concerned."

"We can tell him," Brendon said, rolling over a little to rest more firmly against Spencer's side. Spencer snaked his arm tighter around Brendon's waist. "I just don't want stuff to get weird with the band."

"Me either," Spencer said. "I don't think it will be, except for maybe--"

"Brent," Brendon finished. "Yeah." He was silent for a long moment. "Screw it," he said decisively. "Whatever. If he doesn't like it, he'll just have to deal."

"Yeah," Spencer said, looking down at Brendon, who was looking decidedly fierce and determined. Spencer felt his heart get a little fluttery, that Brendon was willing to risk that much for him. "You're kind of awesome, you know that?"

"So you keep telling me," Brendon said, blushing a little and leaning over to kiss Spencer again.

*

"What the fuck, dude," Spencer said into the phone on Thursday afternoon, tapping his foot impatiently. Ryan rolled his eyes in silent solidarity. "We've already missed a week of practice."

"Look, I'm sorry, okay," Brent said tinnily. It sounded like he was driving with the windows open. "It's ten pages and it's due _tomorrow_. I can make it on Saturday, just not tonight."

"Fine," Spencer said. "But you better be there on Saturday."

"Scout's honor, dude," Brent said, and hung up.

"Well, this was a waste of fucking time," Spencer said tiredly, shoving his phone back into his pocket. On the other side of the practice space, Brendon was picking out something on the keyboard. "I guess we're done for the day."

"Cool," Ryan said easily. "I'll just head out then."

"What?" Spencer said, frowning. "I mean, we can still hang out and shit. I thought we'd all go to your place and play Halo or something."

Ryan very carefully looked at Spencer, looked over at Brendon, and then back at Spencer. Brendon stopped playing, taking a sudden interest in the conversation. Spencer wondered how long he'd been pretending not to listen.

"Um," Spencer said.

"About that," Brendon said.

"It's about time," Ryan said.

"Oh," Brendon said. "You--"

"You're both really obvious," Ryan said. "Even _I_ noticed."

"So?" Brendon said, defiantly.

"So, it's cool," Ryan said. "But you don't you guys want like, alone time and shit?"

"I want to play Halo," Brendon said firmly, getting up to switch the keyboard off and stow it at the side of the room. "I'm going to cream you, Ross."

"Not if I kick his ass first," Spencer said, smiling at Brendon.

"We're only playing Halo if you stop mooning over each other," Ryan said. "Also, shut up, I'm way better than both of you."

"No mooning. Got it," Brendon said solemnly, then winked at Spencer behind Ryan's back. Spencer choked on air and managed to turn it into a cough. "We going?" Ryan said dryly, dangling his keys in one hand. "I need to ensure enough time to properly kick both your asses. It's a delicate process. It requires concentration."

"Yeah, yeah, you're an artist, we get it," Spencer said. He bumped shoulders with Ryan on the way out to the car, out of earshot of Brendon, who was trailing behind to lock up. "Thanks," he said softly. "For stuff."

"Don't mention it," Ryan said, giving Spencer a rare smile. He paused, considering. "Actually, on second thought. You should totally express your gratitude by letting me win."

"In your fucking dreams," Spencer said.

*  
Brendon had to work on Fridays, as usual.

Also, as usual, some idiot had decided that construction should take place starting at 9pm on a Friday night on the one exit that Spencer really couldn't avoid taking if he wanted to end up AT the mall and not just speeding past it. He drummed his fingers on his steering wheel in frustration and thought about calling Brendon, then decided it wasn't worth it because traffic was moving, then realized that traffic really _wasn't_ moving, and then got so pissed off that he forgot about it entirely. In the end, he was only about twenty minutes later then he said he'd be, but Spencer still felt kind of bad.

Brendon was leaning up against one of the lights in the parking lot when Spencer pulled in, screwing around with his phone. His uniform shirt was hanging out of his backpack, nestled by his feet on the concrete. His hoodie was light pink. Spencer resisted the urge to ask him if he wanted the candy he had hidden in the backseat and instead pulled up next to him so he could lean out the driver's side window.

"Let me guess," Spencer said. "You came out here for the unparalleled ambience."

"Something like that," Brendon said easily, shoving his phone back in his pocket walking over. "I got bored waiting, I wanted to walk around for a bit."

"Sorry," Spencer said, wincing. "I tried, but there's construction."

"It's okay," Brendon said, glancing carefully to the left and right before leaning in and kissing Spencer hello on the cheek. Spencer tilted his head a little, tapping a finger under Brendon's chin and drawing him back for a real kiss. Brendon pulled back after a few minutes and raised an eyebrow. "Feisty?"

"Maybe," Spencer said, shrugging. It just seemed stupid to be careful when they were in the middle of a nearly empty parking lot. Brendon went and grabbed his backpack from under the streetlight, crossing in front of the car to open the passenger's side door and slide into the seat.

He reached over and took the keys out of Spencer's hand, just as Spencer was preparing to put them back in the ignition.

"I was using those," Spencer said.

"We should just hang out here for a bit," Brendon said easily. "You know. Relax."

"Or we could make out," Spencer said. "I'm assuming that's what you meant by relax."

"Pretty much," Brendon said. He gave Spencer's side of the car a calculating gaze, and then suddenly there were knees and elbows everywhere. "Fuck," Spencer said, leaning as far back as possible so Brendon didn't smack him in the face. "Fuck," Brendon echoed when he hit his elbow on the steering wheel. They stared at each other for a moment. "This isn't," Spencer said. "As much as I am in favor of this plan, we're right under the streetlight. And you're cutting off my circulation in my legs."

"We could drive over there," Brendon said, twisting around to point at the side of the parking lot, half hidden by a row of admittedly scrubby trees, but far away from the lights. Spencer bit his lip, because Brendon was sort of sitting directly on his dick and shifting around and it was distracting in the best possible way.

"I'm not driving over there with you on my lap," Spencer said. "I can't see."

"You're so lame," Brendon said. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I've got your sense of adventure right here," Spencer said with a slight smirk, and managed to keep a straight face for a full three seconds before he lost it, Brendon snickering helplessly into his shoulder.

"So lame," Brendon muttered, once he had caught his breath. Spencer hiccupped a little. It hadn't really been that funny, but it was late and they were in his car and Brendon had been his boyfriend for like, a week, and everything still seemed sort of slightly unreal, tinged at the edges with a chemical glow.

"Yup," Spencer said. "Now get off my lap so I can move the car." Brendon didn't attempt to get back in the passenger seat, instead reaching over to unlock the driver's side door and hopping out. He still had Spencer's keys in his hand.

"That tree, okay?" Brendon said, pointing across the parking lot to the far corner. "Sure," Spencer said, bewildered. "But I need my keys."

"Race you," Brendon said with little smile, tossing Spencer's keys through the open window and taking off at a sprint.

"Fuck!" Spencer muttered, dropping the keys and then jamming them in the ignition. Brendon had a pretty serious head start, but Spencer had a car. He felt confident of the eventual outcome of this contest.

In the end he did win, but only by about three seconds.

"Dammit," Brendon said, bent in half, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. "So fucking close. I should have dropped the keys on the pavement so you would have had to get out."

"That's cheating," Spencer pointed out. "Epic cheating."

"I was just leveling the playing field a little," Brendon said. He swiped his hair off his forehead and tugged the door to Spencer's backseat open, clambering inside. Spencer was distracted, fucking with the headlights; it looked like one of them was out, but there was no surface in front of the car to accurately reflect the beams. He was about to ask Brendon to get out and check when Brendon's head suddenly appeared over his shoulder.

"Coming?" Brendon said, and then snickered at his own joke.

"I think one of my headlights is out," Spencer said a little sadly. He didn't want to get pulled over.

"I think I don't care," Brendon said. He leaned in, scraping his teeth gently across the curve of Spencer's jawline, alternating tiny, sharp bites with swipes of his tongue. "Come on," Brendon said softly. "You can fix the headlights later."

"Mmmmhmm," Spencer said weakly. He had to shake himself a little and make himself move after Brendon pulled away. Sometime in the past week Brendon had gotten _really_ good at that.

When he opened the back seat door, Brendon was leaning over into the open trunk, inspecting. Spencer took a moment to admire the view.

"Dude," Brendon said, looking back over his shoulder at Spencer and raising an eyebrow. "There's blankets back here." He scrambled into the back, shoving aside a gallon of water and something that looked suspiciously like a pair of child-sized roller blades. Spencer managed to climb back with slightly more trouble, simply because he wasn't quite as tiny and bendy as Brendon.

"So," Spencer said, after they had arranged everything so that they were laying on the blanket and not on the roller skates. Everything seemed like more of a big deal, somehow, now that they were back here and they'd gone to all the trouble of organizing and setting everything up. Spencer wondered if he was about to lose his virginity, and then he wondered how that would actually work with Brendon and then Brendon sort of rolled on top of him and he stopped thinking. He leaned up just as Brendon leaned down but Brendon paused for a moment, just breathing. This close, Spencer could just faintly see his freckles, the way his eyelashes flickered down to look at Spencer's mouth and then back up. They kissed slowly; Spencer could feel the slight heat of Brendon's mouth, inches from his own, every time they broke away to breathe. Spencer took a deep breath and slid his hand down Brendon's side, settling him more firmly on top of Spencer. Brendon made a tiny noise and leaned back in, kissing Spencer a little more desperately, shifting his hips slightly. Spencer slid his hand up to the small of Brendon's back, one hand tangled in his hair, the other holding him in place. Their feet were tangled together, and Brendon knocked his foot against Spencer's ankle. He was definitely hard against Spencer's thigh. He ducked his head a little, scraping his teeth over Spencer's adam's apple, and Spencer groaned, tipping his head back farther and pulling Brendon in closer, letting his hand slide slowly down to the curve of Brendon's ass. He slipped his hand into Brendon's back pocket, using the leverage to grind himself up against Brendon, and Brendon made a pleased noise, panting a little.

"Did you want to--" Brendon said, a little breathless.

"I don't care," Spencer said, also a little breathless, rolling his hips. "Whatever. Whatever you want."

"This is good," Brendon mumbled, sliding his hands under Spencer's t-shirt, tugging it over Spencer's head. He leaned down, scraping his teeth gently over Spencer's nipple, and Spencer jerked, surprised by the sudden jolt to his gut, the way it made his spine turn a little more liquid. Spencer tugged Brendon's shirt off, following suit, and when Brendon leaned back down they both made identical little noises, bitten off, Spencer leaning up and kissing Brendon desperately. He couldn't seem to stop running his hands over Brendon's skin. The friction between them was a little painful because they were both still in their jeans, Brendon's belt buckle digging into Spencer's hip, but it was still good and Spencer was pretty sure he was going to come soon, just from Brendon's mouth on his skin and the way he kept thrusting slightly, like he couldn't help it.

"Fuck," Brendon said softly, panting, after Spencer met him on a particularly nice roll of his hips, one that had Spencer's eyes practically rolling back in his head. "Spence," Brendon said, his voice a little strained and Spencer felt his gut twist, because he was the reason Brendon sounded like that.

"Are you gonna--?" Spencer said, a little shaky.

"Yeah," Brendon said, and ducked his head into Spencer's shoulder, groaning a little. Spencer could feel Brendon's body tightening a little under his hands, and it was so unexpectedly hot, the idea that Brendon was going to come and Spencer was going to get to see it, and then Spencer thought about how much hotter it would be if they were naked, if Brendon actually _came on_ Spencer. Brendon rocked his hips into Spencer's, hard, and then shuddered, coming with a few arrhythmic thrusts and a soft, unformed noise, muffled by Spencer's shoulder. The part of Brendon's jeans that was pressed up against Spencer's bare stomach felt damp and Spencer lost it, throwing his head back and letting his orgasm overtake him. It was a really, really good one.

When he opened his eyes again, they felt gummy. He blinked. His head was all swimmy, in a really pleasant way.

"Wow," Brendon said. He moved to sit up and winced, making a face at the front of his jeans. "Dude, we should have taken these off. We have to go home to your mom."

"Shit," Spencer said, feeling his heart rate abruptly speed back up. "Shit, shit, shit. Um." Walking in his front door with come all over his jeans was not exactly how he'd planned on telling his parents.

"I have khakis in my bag," Brendon said. "We could just say you uh, spilled something on yourself. Like a...milkshake."

"Then we'd have to go pick up milkshakes," Spencer said.

"And?" Brendon said.

"Do you even like vanilla milkshakes?" Spencer said. "Because I actually hate them."

"I'm an equal opportunity milkshake drinker," Brendon said confidently. "I got this."

"Okay," Spencer said, and then hesitated a moment before leaning over and kissing Brendon on the cheek. He didn't know why he was feeling suddenly shy, except it sort of felt like they'd just had sex and Spencer's stomach was all fluttery and nervous and Brendon had just _seen him come_ and that was sort of a really big deal. He let himself linger when Brendon sort of turned his face, nuzzling into Spencer. It was both really lame and really fucking adorable, and Spencer was pretty sure he'd just felt his heart clench despite the fact that that didn't actually happen in real life.

"Onward," Brendon said, after a while, pulling away reluctantly. "Forward march to--to milkshakes. And shit."

"You should probably rule out the military as a career choice," Spencer said, grinning. "That wasn't very inspiring."

"I'll inspire your _face_," Brendon said, laughing. "Watch me."

"Uh-huh," Spencer said, and leaned back in to kiss him again.

*

They barely made it in by weekend curfew, and even then Spencer was only saved by pointing out that the clock in the car was a little slow.

"You have a cell phone," Ginger said, raising an eyebrow and hitting pause on the VCR remote. "Also, what did you spill on yourself?"

"Milkshake," Spencer said quickly. "They didn't really put the top on right."

"Is it all over the car?" Ginger said, looking faintly alarmed.

"No, it mostly just got on my lap," Spencer said, wishing fervently that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. "The car's okay."

"Good," Ginger said. "Anyway, you boys should go to bed, you have a long day tomorrow. Jeff said he'd wake you up around 8."

"What?" Spencer said, confused. He didn't remember having any plans tomorrow, at least not until band practice, but that wasn't until like 5 or 6.

"Oh, dammit," Ginger said, rubbing the space between her eyes and setting her tea down. "I _knew_ I forgot to tell you something. Jeff and I just have some things for Brendon, some stuff that's just sitting in the garage taking up space. It would be a huge help if you'd take it off our hands."

"Oh," Brendon said, looking just as confused as Spencer felt. "What kind of stuff?"

"Some furniture and things," Ginger said, waving a hand. "It's all mostly packed up in the car already, but I think we'll need to fit the dresser in the back of the station wagon."

"Dresser?" Brendon said.

"It's really not that much," Ginger said. "Really, Brendon, you'd be doing us a huge favor. I'm so sorry I forgot to ask you before."

"No, it's fine," Brendon said, looking a little shell-shocked. "I can uh. I can help you out with that stuff."

"Perfect," Ginger said, and picked her tea back up.

"Yeah," Spencer said. "We're just going to, uh. Go to bed then." Ginger waved them off, hitting play on the remote to restart the movie.

"Okay, okay, that was _not_ my fault," Spencer said, as soon as they were out of earshot. He was dreading another fight like the one they'd had last week. "They didn't say anything to me."

Brendon stopped at the top of the stairs, letting out a sigh. "No, it's fine," he said, smiling slightly, a little bashful, like he realized how neatly he'd been shoehorned into letting Spencer's parents help him out. "Your mom is pretty sneaky."

"Yeah," Spencer said cautiously.

"Also, I really fucking need a dresser," Brendon said.

"Okay," Spencer said, letting out a breath. "But you don't want any of the stuff--"

"Then I'll tell your dad tomorrow," Brendon said. "I know they mean well. It's okay." He brushed the back of his hand against Spencer's. "C'mon, let's go to bed. I have a long day of watching you lift things tomorrow."

"You _wish_," Spencer said, but he followed Brendon down to his room all the same.

*  
"Holy _crap,_," Spencer muttered, once they were actually parked outside Brendon's apartment the next morning and they got to see what Ginger had packed into his dad's car. On top of the furniture--the dresser, which they'd loaded into the station wagon, an end table, a couple of IKEA folding chairs, a small free-standing cabinet, and a few lamps--there were bags of towels and sheets, pot holders, silverware, what looked like a mini-coffee-maker, and two bags of pasta and canned goods.

"She was cleaning," Jeff said, referring to Spencer's mom. "You know how she gets when she cleans. I had to convince her not to throw out the TV."

"Right," Spencer said. Half of him wanted to hug his parents and half of him wanted to ask them what the hell they thought they were doing, but Brendon seemed to be taking it all in stride. Spencer was grateful for small mercies.

It took a few hours to get everything up to the third floor; the elevator was, unsurprisingly, still broken. Spencer hoped he hadn't pulled anything. That stupid dresser was _heavy_. "Mahogany," Jeff said blithely, when Spencer asked if it was made of solid concrete. "It's been out there for years. Brendon's doing us a huge favor taking it out of the house, your mother hates it." Behind him, Brendon snorted softly, amused. He was dragging one of the laundry bags upstairs, the coffee maker tucked under his arm. There had been a few loads that hadn't quite had time to make it into the dryer at Spencer's house; whatever its other faults, Brendon's building did have a few coin-operated washers and dryers down in the basement, so they'd just brought the wet laundry after Brendon had assured him that it only cost a dollar to dry a load.

Jeff left around noon to pick up the twins, once they'd gotten all the heavy stuff upstairs and everything out of his car, with firm instructions for Brendon to call if he ever needed anything. Spencer could feel his face flaming. His parents were simultaneously so cool and so lame.

Brendon flopped down on the mattress after Jeff headed out, staring mournfully at the bags and furniture piled in the middle of the small room. "I wish I was a Jedi," Brendon said. "Then I could move everything with my _mind_." He reached out a hand with an expression of intense concentration, as though he was trying to summon the Force.

"It never works with my remote control, either," Spencer said, sitting down and knocking shoulders with Brendon. "C'mon, all we have to do is move things where you want them. It won't be that hard."

"Yeah?" Brendon said. "And you're cool with just, like, I know you don't really--"

"Brendon." Spencer said patiently. "I was a complete dick before. Your apartment is not a shithole. I plan on spending a lot of time in your apartment. If that's okay," He added quickly, feeling that he should ask permission before he just like, invited himself into Brendon's space on a permanent basis.

"It's okay," Brendon said, smiling widely. "Come over any time you want, Spencer Smith."

"Cool," Spencer said, mirroring Brendon's grin. "You want to get all manly with me and move some furniture?"

"Hot," Brendon said dryly. "Are you going to do it half-naked?"

"Maybe," Spencer said. "If you ask real nicely."

"I'm asking nicely," Brendon said. "This is me asking nicely. Right now."

"I'm not moving things half-naked just so you can perv on me," Spencer said. "You'll drop something."

"Fine," Brendon said, standing up and tugging his shirt over his head. Spencer thought about last night, all of Brendon's skin under his hands, and felt his mouth go a little dry. Brendon fixed him with a challenging look. Spencer rolled his eyes and tugged his shirt off.

"This is like bad gay porn," Spencer grumbled, starting to pull the bags of laundry and assorted linens off the top of the dresser so they could move it. Between the two of them they managed to lift it and started shuffling towards the wall. "Soon the pizza delivery guy is going to show up and ask us if we ordered sausage."

"Since when you watch gay porn?" Brendon said, smirking.

"Uh," Spencer said. "Nevermind. Forgot I said that."

Brendon gave him a sideways look, a quick flickering glance that darted away as soon as it had originated. "So, what did you--"

"Stuff," Spencer said, his face heating.

"Stuuuff," Brendon said, drawing out the vowels. "What kind of...stuff?"

"Can we not have this conversation right now?" Spencer said, a little plaintively. He could feel how badly he was blushing. "I don't want to drop this on you."

" 'kay," Brendon said, smirking a little. They finally managed to fit the dresser in between the end of the bed and the corner, right up against the wall. As soon as they put it down, Brendon opened his mouth, but Spencer was faster.

"No," Spencer said, cutting him off. "Look, you can interrogate me all you want after, but right now we need to move all of this crap."

"You're kind of cute when you're embarrassed," Brendon said, the corner of his mouth twitching in an ill-suppressed smile. Spencer thought he was enjoying this far too much.

"Shut up," Spencer said, trying to sound fierce. "I'm not embarrassed. Whatever."

"Uh-huh," Brendon said.

*  
"So," Spencer said, when they flopped back down on Brendon's bed three hours later. "That took a long-ass time."

Brendon hummed his agreement.

They'd moved all the furniture into place--twice, because Spencer had suggested moving the mattress, which had entailed moving everything else to fit around the mattress--and then put all the dishes away, cleaned the kitchen area, vacuumed, and folded and put away four loads of laundry. Spencer couldn't remember the last time he'd done that much cleaning. Hell, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd cleaned his own room and he'd totally spent his Saturday cleaning Brendon's apartment.

He really was fucking whipped. Jesus.

They were both still half-naked, at first because every time Spencer rolled his eyes and tried to put his shirt back on Brendon slapped it out of his hands and then eventually because it was just so damn hot in the apartment when they were up and moving around. (Spencer had attempted to fix Brendon's air conditioner through the time-honored method of "kick it where it rattles," but so far they hadn't had much success. "It's not that it doesn't _work_," Brendon had mused, wiping sweat off the back of his neck. He was standing close enough that Spencer could smell his deodorant. "It's more that _it_ gets to choose how cold the air is going to be. My opinion doesn't seem to matter that all that much." As he said that the air turned slightly cooler, even though the knob remained turned to high.

"I wonder if it's psychic," Spencer had said. "Psychic and fucking with us."

"That would be cool," Brendon said, "except for how I'm never going to sleep at night now, thanks."

"Just don't sleep under it," Spencer said reasonably. "Then it can't commit harakiri on your face.")

"What time is it?" Brendon asked, falling backwards on the bed and kicking his shoes off. They'd put some of the new sheets on, and they still had folding wrinkles in them. They were all crinkly against Spencer's back.

"Like 4," Spencer said. "I think we're meeting Ryan at 6."

"So we've got two hours," Brendon said, staring innocently up at the ceiling. Spencer nodded. The thought had definitely occurred to him. It was silent in the room for a few minutes, broken only by the noisy rattle of the air conditioner. _Evil_ air conditioner, Spencer self-corrected in his head. He was trying to figure out a way to subtly point out they could be making out right now, except for how Spencer was sort of a little nervous, because there was really no reason not to get naked. It wasn't like anyone was going to come in. And Spencer was all for nakedness, really, but there were certain things that he was pretty sure he wasn't quite ready for just yet and what if that was what Brendon wanted? So he stayed silent, the tension in the room mounting.

Brendon finally looked over at him with a solemn expression. "We could play Uno," he said. "I hear that's a good time waster."

Spencer snickered, the air between them clearing a bit.

"Dude," Brendon said, reaching over and scratching Spencer's stomach reassuringly. Spencer knew it was supposed to be calming, but it sort of also feel really nice to have Brendon's hands on his skin. "We don't like--I was totally kidding earlier about the porn."

"I knew that," Spencer said.

"We can just make out," Brendon said. "It's not a big deal."

"No," Spencer said, taking a deep breath and rolling into his side, so that he was sort of pressed along Brendon's side where Brendon was still lying on his back. He hooked one finger in the top of Brendon's waistband. "I. I want to see you," Spencer said, quietly. He watched as Brendon's eyes widened a little, obviously not expecting Spencer's words.

Brendon bit his lip. "We should probably lock the door," he said. "I'm just. Going to go do that."

"Right," Spencer said, and watched as Brendon locked the door, put on the security chain, then took off his glasses and placed them on the counter for safekeeping. He got back down on the bed, sort of sitting back on his heels. Spencer noted with interest that he was already half-hard. "So, uh," Brendon said, "How did you want to--"

"Like this," Spencer said, leaning back and pulling Brendon on top of him. Brendon kissed him, wet and messy, and pretty soon he was grinding down into Spencer's thigh while Spencer ground up. It was sweaty and slippery and awesome, except they were still wearing pants and Spencer hadn't been kidding about that part, he really did want to see Brendon naked. He managed to wiggle a hand down in between Brendon's jeans and his briefs, shoving them down so he could cup Brendon's bare hipbone. The skin was smooth and damp under his palm.

"Shit," Brendon said, breaking away from Spencer, panting a little. "Um, can I, can we--"

"Yeah," Spencer said, but it was sort of unnecessary because he was already trying to get Brendon's pants off. It was more complicated that Spencer had been led to believe, and after a few moments of getting nowhere Spencer gave up, batted Brendon's hands away from his jeans, and focused on removing his own pants. He kicked them off to the end of the bed and then Brendon was on top of him, all smooth skin and sharp angles and Spencer gasped into Brendon's mouth at the first touch of Brendon's dick against his stomach, the skin hot and damp and velvety smooth.

It was pretty amazing.

"Fuck," Brendon mumbled, almost incoherently, touching Spencer everywhere he could reach. "You're so--"

"Yeah," Spencer said, arching up and groaning. "God." He opened his eyes and Brendon's cheeks were flushed, his mouth slightly red and swollen. Spencer had never wanted anyone so bad in his entire life.

"Can I--I want to blow you," Brendon said quickly. "You can say no, I just--"

"Yes," Spencer said. "Fuck, yes, _yes_." Brendon kissed him, hard, and then drew back a little, sort of shimmying down. Spencer bit his lip and arched again when Brendon wrapped his hand around Spencer's dick.

"I've never done this before," Brendon said.

"That's--_fuck_\--that's okay," Spencer said faintly, because Brendon had already leaned down and licked a broad swipe across the head. It felt--Spencer didn't have words to describe how it felt, he only knew that he was utterly unaware of anything in the room except Brendon's hands on his cock, holding him in place, and the way he was carefully, slowly taking Spencer into his mouth. A bomb could have dropped in the room and Spencer wouldn't have cared. He was embarrassingly close to coming. Brendon hummed a little around his dick, pulling back to lick around the head, and then spitting into his palm. At the first touch of Brendon's hand, now slick and hot, Spencer jerked up, swearing.

"Okay?" Brendon said, sounding a little unsure.

"Fine," Spencer managed. His voice sounded nothing like his own. "Awesome. Jesus, Brendon." Brendon smiled a little and went to back to blowing him. He kept up the slow, steady movement of his hand, mostly just using a lot of spit and sucking on the head, because the one time he'd tried to actually go down he'd choked and had to pull off. "Sorry," Brendon said, a little sheepishly. He rubbed his thumb slowly over the head of Spencer's cock. Spencer just threw his head back and tangled one hand in Brendon's hair, trying as hard as he could not to pull. He could feel Brendon's jaw working and the thought made little sparks dance behind his eyes. Brendon pulled off again, jerking him faster, letting just the tip of Spencer's cock rest against his lower lip. "You close?" Brendon said, and his voice sounded strange, husky, a little raw. Spencer nodded frantically and then Brendon took him back in his mouth, closing his eyes and slowly, carefully going down until Spencer's cock brushed the back of his throat.

Spencer came.

When he opened his eyes, he was aware of two things; one, that he'd just come in Brendon's mouth and holy Jesus was that hot, and two, that Brendon was still straddling him, biting his lip, one hand working quickly between his legs. "No," Spencer mumbled, pawing at Brendon with clumsy hands until he could knock Brendon's hand away from his dick and replace it with Spencer's own. Brendon gasped into Spencer's mouth when Spencer's hand closed around his dick and kissed him frantically. He tasted salty, slightly bitter, and Spencer moaned. "Do you want me to," Spencer said, and Brendon shook his head. "I'm really close," Brendon said, and Spencer sped up his strokes. Brendon came all over Spencer's stomach and dick, shaking on top of him. Spencer made sure to memorize every second of it, the deep red flush spread across his chest, the way his throat worked helplessly and his eyelashes fluttered.

"Wow," Spencer said softly, when Brendon was finished.

"Yeah," Brendon mumbled. He pulled back a little and winced at the come now smeared between both of their bodies. He went to reach over the side of the bed and then stopped. "Crap," Brendon said. "We put everything away. I don't actually have any dirty socks."

"Washcloth?" Spencer said. "No, I'll get it, sit." He padded into the bathroom and found the stack of towels and things his mom had given Brendon sitting on the toilet. He rinsed one under the faucet and wiped himself off, coming back out and handing it to Brendon. "Thanks," Brendon said, swiping at his stomach perfunctorily and then throwing it over the side of the bed. Spencer laid back down and Brendon sort of curled up into his side, humming a little. It was nice.

"Shit," Brendon said suddenly, after about fifteen minutes had passed. He sat up. "Shit, the laundry, there's one more load that has to go in the dryer."

"Whatever," Spencer mumbled. He was really comfortable. Clothing was overrated.

"Come on," Brendon said, tugging on Spencer's arm and digging around at the foot of his bed for his pants. "If we don't do it now it's going to get all gross."

"Your face is gross," Spencer said.

"Your mom is gross," Brendon said.

"No she's not," Spencer said. "My mom is awesome."

"I--crap," Brendon said. "I got nothing."

"Hah," Spencer said, feeling victorious. Brendon reached down and dumped Spencer's clothes on his stomach. "Ooof," Spencer said. "Dude, you almost dropped that shoe right on my junk."

"Sorry," Brendon said unapologetically. "Hurry up, we only have forty minutes until we have to leave, and the dryer takes thirty-five."

"Why are you so set on doing this _now_," Spencer grumbled. "You can do it when we get back later."

"I have this thing," Brendon said. "I like to wear underwear sometimes. Right now, all of my underwear is sopping wet and sitting in that trash bag. I was sort of hoping to change that."

"You don't need to wear underwear," Spencer said. "_I_ wouldn't mind if you didn't wear underwear." Brendon snickered. "I bet you wouldn't," he said, and tapped his foot impatiently while Spencer threw his clothing on, heading out the door and down to the basement with the laundry in tow.

They pulled everything out of the two dryers, dumping it all into Brendon's laundry bag, then loading up one of them with his remaining laundry. Once the dryer was actually running, Brendon paused. He looked at Spencer, and then at the dryer, and then back at Spencer.

"What," Spencer said, mystified.

Brendon hopped up on the dryer, kicking his feet. "Now I'm taller than you," he said, smiling a little.

"Oh my god," Spencer groaned. "I'm dating an eight-year old."

"Nah," Brendon said, reaching out a hand pulling Spencer in so that he was standing between Brendon's legs.

"Oh really," Spencer said, grinning a little.

"Yes, really," Brendon said, and batted his lashes a little. The dryer underneath him hummed and rumbled. Rays of late-afternoon sun shot through the high, dirty windows, illuminating dust motes and small, square patches of floor. Spencer thought about band practice, and summer, and getting his license, getting to see Brendon every day and long, lazy afternoons spent tasting the salt on Brendon's skin.

"I kind of love your stupid face," Spencer said, and then he blinked. He hadn't really meant to say it, but once it was out there, floating around, he felt no need to take it back.

"Yeah," Brendon said, grinning. He kissed Spencer on the nose, which made Spencer wrinkle his nose and sneeze a little. "Yeah, me too, dumbass."


End file.
